


Pack Building

by abluemountainashtardis



Series: Clever Boy [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:27:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 47,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluemountainashtardis/pseuds/abluemountainashtardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Two of Clever Boy.</p><p>- Summary by PyroBadger -</p><p> After being kidnapped onto a grueling road trip by psychotic alpha werewolf Peter Hale, Stiles has finally reached the end of the line. He'll be turned whether he likes it or not. With all of Peter's efforts to mould Stiles into his perfect mate will this clever boy stop looking for a way home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so bad it's unbelievable, but I know if I don't get it out I'll stall going up a hill - and that's never good, so. Yeah...
> 
> Next chappie will be better promise (I'm lying)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Peter?” Stiles mumbled, knowing the werewolf would hear him no matter his volume.

Stiles frowned when all that greeted him was silence.

“Peter?” Stiles called out, sitting up and taking a proper look around.

There was no one here.

Stiles took a deep breath in then out, his chest feeling tight and sore. Stiles pressed the heel of his hand into a bite mark, unable to stop the fascinated prodding at the bruises decorating his skin even though he winced.

They hadn’t gone far – barely an hour’s drive – before Peter had parked the car and dragged him through some woods to this cabin. Well, carried would be more accurate. Barely three hours later and Stiles was dumped onto a bed and basically eaten. Bite marks from dull human teeth littered his arms and thighs, bruises from fingers were imprinted on his hips and wrists and legs, cuts graven across his chest and under his knees – pain all over and everywhere.

Peter said he would heal quickly after the bite. He didn’t want to miss his last opportunity to mark him.

Stiles was pretty sure Peter was punishing him, releasing pent up anger from when he had been terrified to touch him in case he broke.

Stiles lay down on the bed and shifted to find a comfy position, pulled up short when his ankle jarred. Stiles huffed. He’d been tied to the bed post. Great. Then the clank of chains drew his attention. Stiles shot up like a jack-in-the-box and examined his foot. Apparently he had been upgraded from rope he thought morbidly as he poked at the padlock keeping his ankle chained to the bed post. There was length to it though, Stiles was pleased to note as he continued to curl up in a ball in the middle of the bed and sleep.

* * *

 

Peter entered the cabin loudly, making sure to wake up Stiles who lurched from the bed when he heard the door slam, managing to stand next to the bed but not stray much further. He let his eyes drift over Stiles’ battered form. He smirked when Stiles fiddled with the hem of his briefs, pointing to Stiles’ hesitance.

“Hey.”

Peter stared at Stiles for a moment longer then moved with the groceries to the kitchen.

“You’ve been out? What have you been up to?” Stiles called, sitting back down on the bed watching Peter’s movements. Peter put away the groceries and started to make up a lunch. He’d been quite remiss with feeding Stiles properly today.

“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment?”

Peter brought through the plate and handed it over to Stiles.

“After what you’ve done you think you can just ignore me? If anyone should be given the silent treatment here it’s you.”

Peter sat down behind Stiles as Stiles devoured the sandwich. Peter reached out and snatched Stiles’ wrist before he could take another bite of the nearly vanished piece. Stiles jerked for a moment eyes snapping to glare at Peter. Peter met his gaze coolly and pointedly looked towards the sandwich. Stiles rolled his eyes then closed them and took a bite.

“Cheese. And chicken.”

He took another bite.

“Lettuce.” And another. “Um… rocket? Rocket or spinach.”

Stiles slowly ate his sandwich, reporting on every bite, savouring his food rather than bingeing. Peter ran his fingers over Stiles’ shoulder blades, picking at the scabs that had formed over the scratches he had left last night. Stiles flinched.

“Where have you been?” Stiles asked after munching on lunch. Peter pressed his nose into the back of Stiles neck then pulled him flat down onto his lap, running claws down Stiles’ face but not breaking the skin. He pressed harshly against the black swollen eye. Tears ran from Stiles’ eye. Peter wiped them away with his thumb and licked them off.

“Peter, can I…” Stiles clenched his jaw and turned his face. “Never mind.”

Peter seized Stiles’ chin, turned him back, and raised an eyebrow. Stiles squirmed.

“I was -” Stiles swallowed. “Can I have some clothes? Please?”

Peter gave Stiles some false hope and pretended to deliberate before smacking him across the face. Stiles gasped and curled in on himself, twisting off Peter’s lap. Peter seized the back of Stiles neck and spun him back around. He hit across the cheek again, and again, and again.

“Peter, please! Peter, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”

Peter rolled Stiles onto his side and curled up behind him, pressing kisses down his shoulder blade. Stiles shivered. Peter ran blunt teeth down Stiles’ back, Stiles tensed up – holding his breath. Peter pressed his thumbs into the dimples on Stiles’ back, running his nose down his spine, and breathed deeply. The longer Peter held him the more relaxed Stiles became. Stiles eventually drifted off into a light sleep, fear and pain driving him further into exhaustion. Peter curled tighter around him for a moment before rolling away, checking the padlocks, then sat watching Stiles sleep. Stiles would need another source of stimulus if Peter expected him to remain sane, would need someone else to look after him while Peter was otherwise engaged, needed someone Stiles would feel protective over - but that person couldn't become dependent on Stiles. Ultimately their loyalty would be to him. Their alpha. His beta.

This required some thinking.

* * *

 

Stiles gritted his teeth slightly when he realised he had once again woken to the sound of Peter entering the cabin. Stiles wasn’t sure how long he slept – long enough to be hungry – and why was Peter leaving the cabin anyway? It wasn’t as if he had anywhere to be.

“Stiles…” Peter’s voice floated over. Stiles humffed and pushed himself up before turning to look at Peter. And Peter’s guest.

Stiles was on his feet standing on the bed before he could think about it, eyes riveted to the stranger’s face.

“Stiles, this is Michael.”

Boy. Younger than him. Brunette. Dark eyes. Button nose.

“Michael this is Stiles.”

Looked wary, but not frightened. Looked a bit… Hispanic? White Hispanic? Maybe. Peter’s hands rested on the boy’s shoulders.

“Say hello, Michael.”

What was Peter doing? Was Peter replacing him? After all this, after everything Peter put him through was he just throwing him aside like –

“Hello.”

Stiles stared at the boy.

“Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to Peter. Peter’s eyes grew red for a moment before he raised an eyebrow and inclined his head towards Michael. Stiles glanced back to Michael.

“Hello.”

Peter’s grin stretched wide across his face. “Excellent. I’m so glad we’re all getting along. Michael why don’t you help me in the kitchen with the dinner?”

Michael allowed himself to be led into the kitchen by Peter. Stiles stood on the bed for a few moments more. Listening to the sounds in the kitchen trying to overcome the strong sense of surrealism and terror. He didn’t understand.

“Stiles.”

Peter kissed him on the cheek and Stiles jumped slightly. He hadn’t realised Peter had come up onto the bed beside him. “Get down.”

Stiles looked at Peter, he had a stern, hard expression on his face.

“What? So you can take his clothes from him too?”

Peter smacked Stiles hard enough to split his lip.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, darling,” he spat.

Peter unlocked the padlock before leaving a fuming Stiles and heading back into the kitchen. Stiles slowly sat down and swung off the bed. He stood up and headed for the backpack that held his clothes, throwing on the oversized t-shirt and sweat pants. He went and hovered at the kitchen door, watching as Michael and Peter fell into an easy rhythm with each other. That kind of job sharing never happened between Peter and he.

“Stiles. Table.”

Stiles bristled slightly but quietly gathered plates and cutlery together, setting them down on the table in the kitchen. Then sitting down and watching as Peter plated up the food and Michael sat down with him at the circular table.

Dinner was a tense affair. Stiles was surly, Michael was guarded, and Peter was… analysing. Eyes trained on Michael the whole night, and it was driving Stiles up the wall putting him in an even worse mood.

They migrated to the couch soon after. Sometime after it got dark outside Peter nudged Stiles.

“Go have your snack then get ready for bed. I’ll sort Michael out,” Peter murmured into his ear. Stiles stood up, glancing over at Michael who was curled up upright on the couch, blinking blearily. “He’s had a long day,” Peter cooed.

Michael rolled his eyes and glared slightly at Peter. Stiles turned, headed to the kitchen, grabbed some biscuits, and hoovered them up. He wandered back into the main room just as Peter was gathering blankets and pillows for Michael, so he grabbed his toothbrush from the bag and went into the bathroom. Keeping the door open he brushed quickly then went back into the main room, knowing Peter was counting the seconds he spent in there.

Stepping back into the main room Stiles watched as Peter knelt in front of a tucked in Michael on the couch, smoothing the hair back from his face. Stiles felt a sick sense of dread rise up in him. If Peter manipulated Michael the same way he played with Stiles then that was another life Peter would ruin. What if Peter just repeated the cycle with Michael? Tossed Stiles aside and started afresh with someone younger, someone more malleable, someone else to toy with -

“He’s not you.”

Stiles’ musings stopped mid thought. “What?”

Peter stood up and slowly came to stand in front of Stiles, cupping his cheek. “He’s not here to replace you. You know you’re my one and only.”

Stiles ducked his head a little, ashamed at how the knot in his chest loosened slightly. Peter tilted Stiles’ face up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I couldn’t ever replace you Stiles. Not after everything we’ve been through together. You know that, don’t you?”

Stiles stared at Peter, and he’s trembling, because the juxtaposition of love and fury never ceased to make Stiles breathless. Peter hadn’t been this raw, this gentle, in so long – and god, he so wanted Peter to be gentle with him. He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Of course I know that,” Stiles said, curling his fingers into Peter’s shirt. “Of course I do, Peter -”

Peter closed his mouth over Stiles’ and kissed him long and deep. Stiles pressed against Peter’s chest, pulling him in tighter.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been such a pain tonight, but I just – I don’t understand -”

Peter kissed Stiles again, distracting him from what he was saying. Peter pushed him up against the bed and lifted him onto it. Stiles winced slightly as he pressed against bruises and pulled against scabs. He removed Stiles’ shirt and kissed and bit a trail down his chest.

“Peter,” Stiles whispered. “Peter, hey, wait a second,” Stiles said tugging at Peter’s hair slightly. Peter glanced up at Stiles. “What about…” Stiles said quietly, tilting his head in the direction of Michael. Peter quirked an eyebrow. “We can’t do this with him right there in the same room,” Stiles breathed. Peter leaned in close.

“You think he doesn’t know what I do to you?”

Peter slowly slid off Stiles’ sweatpants and settled between his legs.

“I don’t care what he knows I don’t want him listening in to -”

“He’s going to be a werewolf soon enough,” Peter interrupted, pulling off his own clothes. “What are you going to do? Sexile him a mile every time we have sex? How does that work in the rain and the snow?” he asked kissing the underside of Stiles jaw.

“I don’t care. Peter – ah, Peter stop, come on. He’s right there, Peter. Peter no. Peter stop. Peter -” 

* * *

 

 

Stiles woke up tangled in the sheets. Stiles spent time playing with the hem of the thin sheets, trying to decide if it was silk or satin or some other fabric he’d never heard of. Peter would probably know. Could probably tell the thread count just by looking.

Egyptian cotton. Cotton. Cotton wool. Oh wait that wasn’t a fabric. Was it? Was it cotton, or wool, or some sort of poly blend? Polyester.

Stiles snapped out of his mind ramblings when he heard the creak of the floorboards. He craned his neck and head backwards, not bothering to lift himself form the bed. He hadn’t even realised his head was pointing down the way instead of up.

“Food,” Michael said with two plates in his hands. Stiles held out a hand and Michael passed the plate over silently. Stiles rested the plate onto his stomach and then lifted his hand out again, keeping his eyes on Michael. Michael hesitated and looked suspicious for a moment before taking the hand. Stiles gently pulled him up onto the bed and beside him. Stiles started to eat his sandwich, feeling Michael’s stare on him.

“You can ask me, you know,” Stiles said lightly between bites, catching Michael’s eye.

Michael looked down at his sandwich. “Ask you what?”

Stiles shrugged - a decidedly strange manoeuvre while lying down. “Anything you’d like I suppose.”

Michael was silent while they ate.

“Go get me a t-shirt, yeah?” Stiles murmured, conscious of the fact he was wearing nothing under the sheets. Michael grabbed a t-shirt from the floor and flung it at Stiles then grabbed his empty plate and headed to the kitchen. Stiles heard the noises and clanks of washing up. What fabric were dishcloths?

The kitchen noises stopped and Stiles looked up to see Michael dithering in the doorway.

“Think we could move the tv over here?” Stiles asked.

As it turned out they could. After Michael found the extension plugs, they reprogrammed the clock and tv settings and figured out which output channel was correct. An hour or so later they were pressed up against the headboard watching cartoons. It’s how Peter found them a few hours later. He rolled his eyes.

“Has anyone thought about dinner?”

Michael leapt from the bed and sprinted for the kitchen. Peter ignored him in favour of Stiles.

“Do you like him?” he asked sitting down next to him. Stiles shrugged and pulled his knees up.

“He’s alright.”

Peter frowned. “I do hope you like him. I got him for you,” he explained. Stiles felt his chest go hollow.

“For me?”

“You’re the same sort of age, both a little lonely, both quite clever…” Peter let it hang for a moment while Stiles processed. “I’m building a pack, Stiles. But it’s our pack. I want us to make these decisions together. I want your opinion, your input. Whether you think he’d be a good addition, a strong wolf. I’d be turning you along with him, and it’s good to have a friend to go through the change with you.”

Stiles tried to let the information sink in. “I don’t know. It’s… a bit much all at once.”

“I’ll ask you again tomorrow,” Peter replied, kissing him slowly stiles stayed curled up against the headboard. “I’m going to go check up on him and then I’ll come through and watch some tv with you, alright?”

Stiles nodded slowly and watched as Peter moved across the room to the doorway. He let out a shallow breath and rested his chin on his knees, watching as Ben changed into another alien thing on the screen. Peter was soon pulling him up onto his lap.

“What would happen if I didn’t like him?” Stiles asked.

“I imagine he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, or face a long time in a jail of some sort.”

Stiles frowned. “Why?”

“Oh?” Peter replied nonchalantly. “I framed him for murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also if anyone wants to give me a summary? Or shall I just leave it as is?
> 
> PS OMEGEE Did anyone else have formatting problems. Just spent ten minutes pressing enter. Whit's up wae that?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holla lads, ladies, and inbetween! Sorry I have been so long updating, this is probably the average on this fic. The pace is a lot slower so I write it slower (I dunno if that's ironic or not(yolo tis))
> 
> Look we have a summary, you may address your thanks to PyroBadger for that because I certainly didn't do it. I mean, come on guys, my last summary was an extract and a bullet point list of what was going on...
> 
> Also the formatting is still skiwalli so if sentences run on a bit hate the game not the gamer (except, hate the gamer I mean a game is inanimate, it can't do anything by itself, the gamer gives it life so whit)
> 
> Remember when it's sunny to drink water every other alcoholic beverage, don't die because of dehydration. That's stoopid.

Stiles woke up the next day to Michael tentatively approaching the bed again. Stiles rolled over to make space for him and Michael was soon lying next to him on the bed.

“You sleep okay?” Stiles asked.

“If you two weren’t making such a racket, maybe,” Michael muttered, burrowing his head into a pillow.

Stiles felt a blush rise, ears and chest going red, he cleared his throat. “What’s the couch like?” Stiles asked.

“I’ve slept on worse,” Michael sighed, settling into the pillow, eyes closed.

“Where?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Michael mumbled in response.

“Where’s worse?”

Michael paused for a moment before he lifted his head and faced Stiles properly, eyeing him up. “My foster uncle’s loft for one,” he said slowly. “Behind the dumpster at Lenny’s Bar is another.”

Stiles rolled onto his side and faced Michael who was now staring into space. Stiles waited.

“My, uh, my mom and dad died a few years ago,” Michael spoke softly. “I used to have an aunt but… she went missing. In Afghanistan. Journalist. Mum’s side were all journalists.”

Stiles found himself automatically reaching out for Michael’s hand, curling their fingers up together. Michael stared at their clasped hands for a moment before he broke the contact and turned to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Peter said he had you. I mean, he told me everything really. Laid it all out. What he’d done, what he was, how he was – I mean, I knew he was crazy the second I saw him, but with you as well. He said that he had you and he… he keeps you. That he needed more, needed pack. He offered me a choice, you know. He chose me, and I chose him. Fully informed, fully consenting…” Michael trailed off bitterly.

“He’s going to kill us, you know.”

Stiles felt like ice.

“I’ve been around men like that before. One wrong step, one mistake, that’s it. You’re done. If you’re not the perfect ‘pack member’ for him then… - and you…” Michael let out a frustrated sigh. “You want pack too, don't you? You're just as lonely as him.”

Stiles stared at Michael's profile, unwilling to address the emotional turmoil he felt at Michael’s words.

“I can't cope with watching two crazy people, Stiles. I don't have anywhere else to run to. I can't mess this up.”

Stiles felt himself go numb at Michael's words. Was he really crazy?

“You've got to pull yourself together if you want to survive this,” Michael sat up. “If we're going to survive this.”

Stiles blinked, feeling numb and stupid all at once.

“I don't know if I can.”

“He wants you to be normal. He wants white picket fences and lazy Sunday mornings. He just wants you to be normal. That’s it. You can do that easily.”

Michael slipped off the bed, leaving Stiles in his contemplative stupour. It wasn't till he heard the clangs coming from the kitchen an hour later he stirred.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked coming coming into the kitchen.

“I'm supposed to feed you.”

Stiles stood listlessly in the doorway. “You can cook?”

“My aunt taught me. And my mum. They would travel alot. They'd always come back with some new dish or recipe to try out.”

Stiles stood watching in silence as Michael started making up eggs.

“My mum...” Stiles started. “She had forgotten a lot of things by the end, and she couldn’t speak, not properly… but she wrote down recipies she had learnt from her dad over and over again. They never left her.” Stiles bit his lip. “I’ve never been able to look at them.” Stiles was silent for a moment. “Now I don't know if I ever will.”

Michael nodded. “You will. Now grab some plates, this is almost done.”

Stiles gathered plates and cutlery to the table as Michael brought the eggs over. Stiles grinned.

“I could get used to this, Mikey.”

“You're cleaning up, asshole.”

“Mikey I'm shocked, here I thought we were friends!”

Michael sighed. “Well if we are we should probably do this properly,” he said wiping his hands on his jeans. “Hi, I'm Michael Eduardo Jenkins,” and with a grin he stuck out his hand. Stiles was struck by how young he looked. He grabbed the hand.

“Stiles Stilinski.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Stiles.” “Right back at you, Michael.”

 

\---

 

 

Stiles stared at his wrist in fascination.

The wrist with the bite.

The bite that makes you a werewolf.

The werewolf bite.

Peter had already cleaned it and wrapped it. It stung like a bitch, but apart from that...

“What's wrong?” Peter murmured, straddling him from behind and plastering his chest along Stiles back. “Did you expect more?”

“I expected it to hurt.”

“Apart from the initial pain of the physical bite the transformation is painless. An infection doesn't hurt going in, it's the symptoms that let you know it's there.”

“So lycanthrope is an infection?”

“No, but you have been infected by it. Once your body starts to feel the pull of the moon, things might get tricky. But hey, the bite will have healed.”

“Woo,” Stiles muttered dryly, eyeing up Michael who was fast asleep on the couch. “How can he sleep?”

“Most do. It's tiring. You're the one being weird here,” Peter said playfully nipping his ear.

“Is he okay? I mean, is his bite taking?” Stiles asked turning his face round.

“Yes, he's fine. You can tell almost immediately if something is wrong. I'm glad you bonded with him, I was worried about your initial reaction,” Peter said running a nose along the taller boy's neck.

“I don't react well to that sort of surprise.”

“I'll remember that for next time,” Peter replied, with a gust of breath escaping across Stiles shoulder.

“Next time?” Stiles asked lightly, trying to keep the panic out his voice.

Peter chuckled and drew Stiles up onto his lap so he could face him. “I'll need at least three to feel stable, to feel like a secure and powerful pack. And honestly, I'm used to bigger.” Stiles felt his heart beat painfully in his chest. “But don't worry,” Peter slid his fingers up Stiles neck and jaw, angling Stiles face down towards his, noses touching. “I'll always love you, you'll never be replaced. Never.”

Peter kissed Stiles slowly and deeply, slipping a hand up under his shirt to rub up and down his spine, Stiles moaned gently at the touch, slipping his fingers into Peter's hair.

“Wanna bounce on my penis like a Jack in the box?” Peter asked.

Stiles blinked. “That's a bit forward.”

“Thought that might be the way to go tonight,” Peter said lightly. Stiles stared at Peter for a few moments.

Then he shrugged.

“Alright.”

 

\---

 

Stiles woke up that morning feeling saited and happy. Peter was at his back, Michael sleeping on the couch across the room, and he was thinking so slowly. He could concentrate on the sound of his heartbeat for as long as he liked. The excessive energy that was usually rolling around his brain had dissipated.

“Hey,” Stiles murmured turning over to face Peter.

“Hey,” Peter breathed back, eyes cataloguing him. “You’re all healed up.”

Stiles blinked and glanced down at his usually colourful torso. “I guess so. That’s good yeah?”

Peter took a moment before answering. “Yeah. It’s good. Bite’s taken.”

Stiles let his fingers trail across Peter’s collar bone. “You don’t sound happy.”

Peter took his wrist and kissed it. “I just miss my marks on you, that’s all.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and stretched out on the bed. “What’s the plan then?”

Peter snorted. “I’ll let you both settle before moving you. This is isolated enough and then...”

“Then?”

Peter eyed Stiles. “I have plans.”

“Oh really?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well I should warn you, Mikey expects a white picket fence.”

“Hm…” Peter hummed thoughtfully. “I can arrange that.”

A slight change in breathing made Stiles sit up sharply. “Is he waking up?” he asked Peter. Peter nodded. Stiles sprang up and over to Michael.

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey!” Stiles chirped. “Wake up we’re werewolves.”

Michael groaned and turned over. “Go away, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned, feeling anger bubble up in him at being ignored so thoroughly. “Wake up,” Stiles repeated, then shoved at Michael shoulder.

Michael turned round fast as lightning and clawed at Stiles face, Stiles tackled him throwing them both over the couch, tearing at Michael sides, snarling at each other. Peter kicked Stiles off Michael and roared. Stiles felt it deep at his bones, pulling at him, pulling at his human side to come back as his claws started to recede. Stiles hadn’t even realised he’d shifted. He lay panting into the floorboard, trying to get a hold of his shaking limbs while Peter growled low at Michael who was still in beta form. A few moments passed before Michael’s features reverted back. The only sounds in the cabin were their frantic heartbeats and laboured breathing. Even that was overwhelming. Peter crouched down next to Michael and carded his fingers through Michael’s hair. Michael whined, curling up on his side. Peter glanced up to Stiles.

“It’s going to take a few moments for your wounds to heal,” he said to them gently. Stiles had barely noticed the blood dripping down his face, the gouges missing from his cheeks. “I’m not surprised you went for each other. You’ll get into a few scraps with each other along the way – that’s normal. I’m not angry.” Stiles noticed how the tension in Michael’s shoulders released. Stiles hadn’t even begun to think about Peter’s reaction to their brawl. “Stiles? I’d like you to clear up in here. Michael, could you start us some breakfast?” Peter commanded, standing up. “I don’t expect you two to be making a regular thing of this though. Just because it’s normal doesn’t mean that it’s acceptable behaviour. Understood boys?”

Stiles and Michael both nodded and Peter left them on the floor. Michael glanced up at Stiles and caught his eye. He stayed still as a statue as Stiles reached out and put a hand on his arm. Stiles squeezed.

“Sorry.”

Michael nodded. “Me too.”

They smiled softly at each other before getting up gingerly. All in a day of being a werewolf.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles winced as they went over another bump in the road, arms tightening instinctively around Michael’s body. Michael let out a small snort but said nothing against it. The car had awful suspension, and the road they were on was in an equal state of disrepair.

 

“Favourite heroine?”

 

“You ever watch teen titans on TV?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Raven. She was my fave. So badass.”

 

“I know. And I loved her character arc. Why did they even bother with the last series?”

 

“Slade was a pretty cool bad guy.”

 

“I know, right! I loved Terra as well.”

 

“What even happened to her?”

 

“She got turned into rock and then she reappeared as a different person or something, can’t remember.”

 

“You’re getting old.”

 

“Two years, little man.”

 

“Totes ancient.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes at Michael’s antics but didn’t push back like he wanted to. Michael’s control was a lot more tenuous than his and today had been good so far. Yesterday they had to ditch the car because Michael tore through the floor and broke an axel, then Michael had spent the rest of the day secured to the car roof under some tarp. On the plus side Peter had let Stiles sit curled up in the back seat with him today in an effort to keep him grounded. Seemed to be working so far.

 

“Favourite holiday?”

 

“… Does my own birthday count?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Hmm… Summer holidays. No school.”

 

“That’s not what I meant, munchkin,” Stiles said tickling Michael’s side.

 

“Well then you should have specified,” Michael answered back. “Yours?”

 

“I always liked Saint Patrick’s day. Everything became green for some bizarre reason every year. And Valentine’s day with pink!”

 

“My mom used to buy me chocolate lollipops in the shape of a heart for valentine’s day.”

 

“My - ” Stiles stopped himself short before he could get out the word dad, eyes snapping up to Peter. He could hear his own heartbeat pick up. Michael pushed himself up and out of Stiles arms to look at him, his heart beat was starting to pick up too. “My mom,” Stiles got out slowly, altering which story he was about to tell. “Her favourite type of pie was apple. She’d bake it on valentine’s day and the whole house would smell like it for days.”

 

Michael eyed him suspiciously, but humffed and felt back against him. Stiles felt relieved, eyes glancing up and catching Peter’s in the rear view mirror. He gave a half shrug.

 

“Do you know who Saint Valentine was?” Stiles asked, gearing up to recite everything he had ever learned on wikipedia about him.

 

It was nearly an hour later before Stiles had exhausted the subject matter and Michael was gently snoozing in Stiles arms. Stiles sighed quietly in relief. A sleeping Michael was a behaving Michael.

 

“Well that was nearly impressive, Stiles,” Peter drawled. “You can literally talk a person to sleep.”

 

Stiles grinned. “Shut up.”

 

Peter chuckled and switched the radio on, twisting the dial till he got smooth jazz.

 

“Now this is the way to put someone to sleep,” Stiles muttered. “Didn’t take you as a jazz fan. Maybe old rock,” Stiles said shutting his eyes and leaning his head back.

 

“They used to play this.”

 

Stiles blinked. There was something in the way Peter said it, something he might not have picked up before that made him rouse himself.

 

“Who used to play this?”

 

“The nurses in -” Peter took a breath.

 

“In… the ward?” Stiles asked. “You could hear that? There’s lots of stuff on coma patients being able to hear, like when someone speaks or music.”

 

“Hm. I remember fragments from about six months before I became alpha. Things… trigger it. I didn’t…”

 

“Didn’t… didn’t what?”

 

“Didn’t remember it. Until now.”

 

Michael snuffled in his sleep and Stiles absentmindedly rubbed a hand up and down Michael’s arm. “That’s normal isn’t it? Not remembering everything? It would be kinda horrible if you remembered everything…” Stiles mumbled.

 

“I don’t like being… unaware.”

 

“But you’re better now. You’re stronger now,” Stiles replied. Peter’s eyes lifted up to stare at Stiles in the rear view mirror.

 

“Well haven’t you learned all the right things to say.”

 

“You’ve trained me well,” Stiles said with a sly smile. Peter snorted, and Stiles tipped his head back, drifting off to sleep.

 

-

 

Stiles woke up to Michael climbing across him and falling out the door then shooting off into the distance. He blinked as Peter turned off the car engine and opened the car door. Stiles unfastened his seatbelt and stumbled out the car, stretching as he hit the night air.

 

“Whahmm?” he said to Peter. Peter raised an eyebrow. Stiles groaned back. Peter took him by the hips and leaned back against the car, cradling Stiles to his chest.

 

“We’ll give him an hour before I call him back,” Peter said into Stiles’ neck.

 

“Oh,” Stiles frowned. “Aren’t you worried about…” Stiles stopped short.

 

“Worried about…?”

 

“You don’t let me run off like that,” Stiles muttered, shifting against Peter’s hold minutely.

 

“You’re grounded differently. Michael’s got all this new energy, all this new power, rushing through him and it builds up to bursting. You… you’ve got the power but the energy’s not new. You’ve got a whole new mindset to get used to. Michael’s got a new body,” Peter squeezed Stiles a little too hard around the waist. “Besides he’ll come back when I call for him. He’s not got the will to resist me.” Peter rubbed his thumb into Stiles back. “You’re both still too young for that.”

 

“Oh? How long does it take for you to… grow out of it?” Stiles asked lightly.

 

Peter huffed and kissed Stiles’ cheek. “Some never do. Hungry? I’ve got a sandwich for you.”

 

Later Peter howled and Michael eventually stumbled out of the treeline to their car, landing solidly into Peter’s arms tired and still in his shift.

 

“There was a horse, in a field, and I heard it, then I smelt it, and I saw it, I went right up to it. It was so scared, and it was frozen, and I nearly, but I didn’t, then I kinda barked at it, it ran away. I didn’t do it. I didn’t. Didn't attack it.”

 

“I’m proud. I’m so proud,” Peter murmured, patting his head and making soothing noises. “I told you it’d get better. That you’d get stronger. You deserve to be a wolf. Be pack. So proud.”

 

Stiles watched on as Peter gently crooned praises like a proud father to Michael, talking him out of his shift and back into human form. Watched as Michael pulled back and gave a shaky smile, eyes gazing at Peter like –

 

Stiles shook his head and clambered into the passenger seat, sitting listening to a bird tweet in the forest somewhere while Peter got Michael settled.

 

“Hey,” Stiles said as Peter slide into the driver’s seat.

 

“Hey.”

 

“How far’s the bird?” Stiles asked quietly, closing his eyes to concentrate. Peter stilled for a second.

 

“There are many birds, Stiles, be specific.”

 

“The one that’s…” Stiles frowned. “High up. Not moving. Sounds like a little bird. A baby maybe?”

 

“Hmm… About a mile away?”

 

“That’s so cool,” Stiles muttered snuggling into the car seat. He had become adept at finding to optimum sleeping position in car seats. Peter reached over and put his hand on Stiles knee. Stiles hummed to him.

 

“Sleep well, Stiles.”

 

*

 

When Stiles woke again it was near dawn, he could feel the moon’s light pull ebb away as light began to filter through, turning the sky from black to blue to reds and yellows.

 

“Hey,” Stiles said after he’d slugged down some water.

 

“Hey,” Peter said back, eyes flitting up and down Stiles’ body. Stiles blushed.

 

“Hey!” Michael chirped from the back seat effectively breaking the moment. Stiles grinned wide and Peter rolled his eyes.

 

“Hey dude,” Stiles said twisting about in his seat.

 

“Peter says we’re stopping soon,” Michael said leaning forward and planting his face right onto the back to Stiles’ chair.

 

“That sounds good. I could go some breakfast.”

 

“There’s a cabin. We’ll rest up there for a few hours then move on.”

 

“A few hours?” Stiles nearly screeched, snapping round to face Peter. “Peter, we can’t keep -”

 

“ **Stiles.** ”

 

Stiles curled up slightly in his chair trying to make a smaller target, eyes glued to the floor, Alpha voice shocking him to his core, quietening him.

 

“You think I don’t know? Do you think I don’t know what you need or how to look after you?” Peter asked softly. “Do you think I’m a bad alpha?”

 

Michael let out a subconscious, supersonic, whine. Stiles grit his teeth.

 

“I -”

 

“We won’t be running like this for long. I have a place for us. It’s all set. We’ll be there within the week. I promise.”

 

Stiles could hear Michael bounce up and down on the car seat springs. A high pitched squeak. God he hated the car. Everything it stood for.

 

“Promise?” Stiles whispered.

 

Peter leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

 

“I promise. We’re going to have a home. Soon,” Peter said. “We’ll be a strong pack. I’ll make us a strong pack.”

 

Stiles unfurled a bit and leaned his head back, thinking about what a house would mean. It would mean settling. Plans for the future. Routine, stability. Would Peter ever leave them? Would they be near other people? A town? Would they be found? Did he want to be found like this? He couldn’t go back to his dad when he could barely get through the day without breaking something.

 

“What colour do you want your room to be, Mikey?” Stiles said with a smile. He could do this. He could get excited for a home. For settling down. It's easier to run away when you've got somewhere to run from.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite short, and my updates are getting slower. My observation skills are wicked.
> 
> OMG GUYS. I PASTED MY CHAPPIE IN AND IT WAS ALL UNFORMATTED, THEN I DID CTRL Z, THEN REPASTED, AND IT ALL FORMATTED! NO PRESSING ENTER FOR TEN MINUTES! SO EXCITED. Someone else has to do this for science and continuity!


	4. Chapter 4

The house was old. Not like abandoned old, like, decorated in the sixties old.

 

“It's uh... Nice?” Stiles tried.

 

Michael raised an eyebrow at him as he moved past him and up the stairs.

 

“It's a fixer upper,” Peter said walking down the hallway. “But I think it could be something special.”

 

“Something special? This is... We're settling here?” Stiles asked incredulously. After all the running and moving and awful hotel rooms they were staying here?

 

“Give it a few days; you'll begin to see its potential.”

 

Stiles saw its potential alright. It was three floors plus an attic. It was furnished by a blind person back when brown and orange as a colour scheme was justified. It had holes in the walls and something died in the chimney, but it was spacious and had huge bay windows looking out. The floor square footage was... Big - okay so Stiles didn't count, who cared?

 

It was also in the middle of nowhere.

 

Stiles walked over to the patio doors and opened them up, shivering as the summer night air hit him, it was just turning dark.

 

“I knew that this was the place for us,” Peter said sliding his arms around Stiles’ waist, kissing his jaw and resting his chin on Stiles shoulder. “We own the land around the house too. Eighteen acres.”

 

Stiles blinked. “I don’t know how much that is.”

 

Peter snuffled behind his ear. “Technically our territory goes beyond that, but we don’t actually physically own it. I’m working on it, but this is enough for now.”

 

“If you say so,” Stiles muttered. “So everything I can see is…”

 

“Yours. Let me show you something,” Peter said, pushing Stiles out of the house. He slung an arm around Stiles’ hips and guided him further out onto the land. It had trees and bushes and birds and rabbits and everything you’d expect a forest to have.

 

“Here.”

 

Peter pulled them into a clearing, a huge lake took up most of it.

 

“This side is all rocks… but the other side…” Peter said softly. “Sand.”

 

Stiles felt his heart leap up into his throat. “You got me a beach?” Stiles breathed.

 

“Yeah. I got you a beach.”

 

Stiles felt the world turning sideways.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“I’m gonna sit,” Stiles said dropping to his knees. Peter crouched down beside him.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“I’m fine. It’s just a lot,” Stiles said, concentrating on his breathing, claws creeping out from under his nails. “A house, a beach – what’s next eh?” Stiles said with a small hysterical giggle.

 

“A life together.”

 

Stiles wheezed, pressing the heel of his hands into his forehead. “Not helpful, Peter.”

 

Peter wrapped his arms tight around Stiles’ chest and pulled him into an embrace. “This has always been my plan for you, Stiles. It’s alright to feel a little overwhelmed but I have every confidence you will rise to the occasion.”

 

Stiles whined, feeling his face change and bones move. He hated shifting, for one thing it showed Peter how weak he still was at control – for another it showed Peter his true feelings.

 

“Breathe, Stiles. One, and two. One, and two.”

 

Stiles slowly felt his panic ebb away, teeth shrinking back down into their human state.

 

“There we are,” Peter smiled, cradling Stiles on his lap. “Isn’t it beautiful.”

 

“Sure is, Peter,” Stiles said slumping against him. “Thank you.”

 

“Thank me later,” Peter said, a kiss pressed onto the nape of his neck. “Let’s check on Michael.”

 

*

 

Michael was passed out on a pile of blankets on the second floor, dead to the world. Stiles stood in the doorway of the room watching him breath – like a total psycho, he told himself. He shook his head and was about to leave when hands snaked around his waist, a chin resting on his shoulder.

 

“He’s all tuckered out,” Peter murmured.

 

“Yeah, that last run we did through the woods here was brutal. We ran for nearly three hours,” Stiles replied lightly, wincing slightly as he felt phantom pains still burning in his legs from the run from the car to this house.

 

“I gave you breaks,” Peter said nipping Stiles’ ear.

 

“Seven minutes every hour, gee, how generous,” Stiles muttered. Peter bit him again and Stiles swatted his arm gently.

 

“You must be tired too,” Peter said gently.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes at the lead in to an invitation to bed and hummed non-committedly, still staring at Michael. God he looked young. Almost looked like Scott in a way. If you squinted. Really hard - okay he didn’t look like Scott.

 

God he missed Scott. He missed video games and comic books and mac and cheese and sleepovers.

 

“Have you done this before?” Stiles suddenly asked, thought coming in from left field, an image in his mind of his dad’s silhouette in the doorframe peeking in while he and Scott pretended to be asleep.

 

“Done what?”

 

“Watched over someone’s sleep? Like one of your sister’s kids? Or…” Stiles licked his lips. “Your own?”

 

Stiles could feel Peter’s mood shift, he glanced down and saw alpha claws creeping out of his fingertips.

 

“Peter? Peter I -”

 

“Quiet.”

 

Stiles shut his mouth with a snap, muscles going tense and taught under Peter’s clawed hands.

 

“I was eight when Talia’s eldest was born,” Peter said lightly, hands shifting to grip Stiles’ hips tight. “Twelve when Laura was born, fourteen when Derek was born,” Peter pulled Stiles out of the doorway and pressed him against the wall beside Michael door, front flush against his back. “Twenty two when Cora was born,” a claw ran its way down the side of Stiles’ face that wasn’t pushed into the wall, leaving a small slit in the skin that healed slowly behind it. “She’d have been about your age,” he said in a far away voice. “I wouldn’t have minded. Being a father. Someone to pass on to, to create and mould for the world.”

 

Peter’s presence left Stiles and he shivered, feeling cold at the sudden loss of body heat. He took a step away from the wall and looked up the hallway. Peter stood at the bottom of the staircase to the next floor. Before, all Stiles would have been able to see was his shape, now he could clearly see his expression – the dead stare and the tightness around his mouth, the way his hand did not hang naturally but was kept perfectly still in an effort of control. Before, Stiles would have only been able to hear his own heart thump erratically in his chest, now he heard the rhythm of sleep from Michael, the rhythm of lust from Peter.

 

“Shall we christen our bedroom now.”

 

Stiles rubbed his arms and poked at the healing scab on his face, throwing one more look behind him at Michael. Asleep. Stiles threw a half hearted smile at the demand.

 

“Why not.”

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe sorry about the wait and tbh this is probs the average waiting time we've got going on for this fic


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unofficial title of this chapter is 'The Drabbles of Summer' because they all used to be super diconnected bits of story 
> 
> TBH bits still are so... '-' means they're part of the same episode of action '-------------------------' means a new bit of action.
> 
> Enjoy?

Stiles woke up nestled in Peter’s arms, he glanced up at the already awake Peter.

 

“I’m thinking eggshell.”

 

Stiles’ brow furrowed, not entirely sure if he was awake or heard right.

 

“What?”

 

Thus begun the renovations.

 

“Tiles or laminate for the kitchen?” Peter asked at the only table in the house – the kitchen breakfast isle - which had orange floral wallpaper running all over it. Stiles shrugged and shovelled cereal into his mouth.

 

“It might be nice to have laminate run all the way through the downstairs. The foyer and the kitchen at least. Then we could actually use the arches and get rid of those doors,” Michael chipped in. Peter observed Michael for a moment, eyes flicking between him and Stiles, and then subtly turned more towards him. Stiles rolled his eyes. “But we’re definitely getting rid of the lino, right?”

 

“Definitely,” Peter affirmed.

 

“Definitely,” Stiles echoed, winking at Mikey who gave a grin.

 

“Laminate in the foyer, the kitchen, and the living room.”

 

“What about that corner room?”

 

“Well it’s not open plan like the foyer and living room are. I thought we might put a carpet in there.”

 

“And a tv?”

 

Peter levelled a look at Michael cold enough to turn you to stone. Michael held his breath. So did Stiles.

 

“We’ll discuss amenities later, shall we?”

 

Michael nodded. “Sorry.”

 

“He’s just excited,” Stiles added in flippantly. “Are we carpeting the stairs?”

 

So a routine was set. They tore up carpets, repaired windows, replaced plumbing, removed rotting floor boards, dusted, evicted the animals from the chimney… even then it wasn’t all finished - they hadn’t even begun decorating, they were just making the house inhabitable. Stiles was bone tired at the end of each day.

 

After work was dinner, and after dinner Peter would pull him close on the old lumpy couch they hadn’t thrown out yet, tangle their limbs together with a glass of wine, and have Michael curl up near them to read aloud for him. It was usually some sort of Shakespeare – it seemed Michael had an affinity for it. When he was finished Peter would bring Michael in close and send him to bed with a kiss and a praise of how clever he was which would set a knot of stone in Stiles’ stomach made out of jealousy and rage and hate and he was never sure of who or what it was aimed at.

 

Damn Peter. Damn Peter and the way he played them off each other.

 

For every smile and kiss and encouragement Stiles hated, Michael blushed and preened and lit up like a supernova. For every piece of affection doled out, Michael returned it twice over. It killed Stiles to watch it happen – to facilitate it sometimes – but he couldn’t bear to crush Michael’s small pockets of craved joy.

 

Peter would help Michael cook while Stiles sat and watched. Michael buzzed about the room, a grin on his face as he bantered with Peter – Stiles recognised it in himself – caving to Peter’s charm and wit. The way Peter gently taught Michael technique he didn’t have with the knives, prompted him to come up with new recipes, the blunt manner of refusing to talk down to him, the obvious boundaries that were not to be crossed. Peter created and pruned Michael into a safe zone he could flourish in – the same way he had cut Stiles back into his own little pen.

 

The first time Michael had flipped out at Peter Stiles had been in complete shock and awe. Stiles couldn’t even remember what Peter said – something about being a pretty cook – and Michael had wigged out thoroughly. He had taken the boiling water and poured it over Peter before busting a chair against him and kicking him in the kneecap hard enough to break bone. Then he ran.

 

It had been well after dark before Michael stumbled in shaking and shivering, falling to his knees in front of Peter, pressing his forehead into his Alpha’s thigh, making a sorrowful high-pitch whine. Peter cradled his head until he had calmed enough to speak and shift back into human form.

 

“Peter, Alpha, I’m sor – sorry – I -”

 

“Shh, shh, you don’t need to say a word just now. I’m just glad you’re back,” Peter said, running fingers through Michael’s dark mop. “Stiles, perhaps some hot chocolate?”

 

Stiles scrambled through to the kitchen, focusing on his task. When he came through with the hot drink Michael had curled up on the sofa next to Peter, legs over his Alpha’s lap and head resting on top of his shoulder, Peter’s arms wound around him. It stirred fear and jealousy in his chest. Michael looked so vulnerable in Peter’s embrace.

 

“Why don’t you head up to bed?” Peter said pulling Stiles in for a kiss which was surreptitiously watched by Michael. “We might be a while.”

 

“Alright,” Stiles said, turning and leaving. He glanced back at the couple before he headed up the stairs. Michael’s big dark sad eyes stared after him.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

The nights Peter took them hunting were Stiles’ favourite, Stiles thought as he collapsed, exhausted after the hunt. Michael flopped onto the ground next to him, turning over onto his back to look up at the tree tops and night sky. He laughed. Stiles opened an eye at him and raised an eyebrow.

 

“Sorry, just,” Michael was breathing hard. “I can’t believe we just took down a bear. A bear man!” he shouted with glee. Stiles snorted, rolling over to face the sky, his shoulder pressing against Michael’s.

 

“A bear.”

 

Michael turned onto his side, staring into Stiles’ eyes with a wide grin on his face. “We’re unstoppable,” he breathed as his eyes flashed gold. Stiles could feel a strange thumpthump happen inside his chest. Michael leaned in close to Stiles’ face. “What couldn’t we do?” he whispered, exhilarated. Stiles gave a small smile, letting the silence linger for a moment.

 

“Lug a bear carcass over a cliff?” Stiles eventually remarked. Michael squealed and fell back on the ground again, pressing his fingers into the dirt and earth.

 

“Well obviously. He back yet?” Michael asked. Stiles put his ear to the ground.

 

“Just heading this way. I can hear the bear tumble down the rock fall.”

 

Michael turned his body and also pressed his ear to the ground, then ricocheted off it. “Man, that’s loud. How can you make sense of that racket?” he asked rubbing at his ears. Stiles shrugged. He was used to processing too much information. To hearing everything and having to pick the most important piece - even if it was wrong. (Science homework verses how on earth do door handles work. He took apart every handle in the house. Three hours later his dad came home and managed to distract him out of his hyper focus.) Michael lay back down on the ground, lifting his hands up into the moonlight. His claws were still out and dripping in blood from the kill.

 

“What happens to the blood when we shift back?” Michael queried.

 

“Blood is still on your hands,” Stiles whispered, remembering Mike. Alec. Bloody hands all over him after a slaughter had been made.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Michael had moved close again. His concerned face crowding Stiles’ vision. Stiles smiled tightly at him.

 

“I’ve seen Peter do it,” Stiles managed to get out evenly. Michael looked blankly at Stiles for a moment before settling down next to him, resting his forehead against Stiles’ chest.

 

“Home soon,” Michael said softly. Stiles took a shuddering breath in and wrapped his arms around him.

 

“Yeah, Mikey. Home soon.”

 

As it turned out Michael crashed about half way home and hopped on Stiles back for a piggy-back-ride. Stiles snorted and let the teen sprawl across his back, feeling settled as the kid nosed the back of his neck and mumbled sleepy things.

 

“We should take out bears all the time,” he muttered as Stiles dumped him on his mattress and pulled off his shoes.

 

“Even the little bear cubs?” Stiles asked pulling back the sheets and rolling Michael in.

 

“No. Just the big mean ones,” he replied sagely, quite at ease at letting Stiles tuck him into his blankets.

 

“Alright then,” Stiles snorted with a grin, sitting down on the edge of the blanket nest. Michael reached up and curled a hand round Stiles’ cheek, thumb brushing back and forth, staring at him intently. Stiles raised an eyebrow. Michael frowned and looked down. Stiles turned his head and kissed the inside of his wrist quickly.

 

“Nighty night, Mikey Mike.”

 

Michael groaned at the rhyme.

 

“So lame, man. Utterly fo – arhhmm,” Michael interrupted himself with a yawn. “Foul,” he said bringing his hand down and settling into his blankets. He nodded off in seconds and Stiles watched him sleep before Peter gently guided him away.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Stiles paused at the doorway of the foyer to watch the argument.

 

“We’ve been doing this for forever, Peter! Can’t we just take a day off to chill?” Michael snapped.

 

“I want the skirting down here finished by today. You can rest tomorrow if you manage to finish,” Peter replied calmly.

 

“That’s not good enough!” Michael spat, flinging his arm out and punching the banister – shattering the wood into pieces, dust and splinters flying everywhere. Stiles stepped forwards, without a clue of what he was about to do.

 

“That banister was barely finished.”

 

“Like I give a flying fuc -”

 

Peter grabbed Michael’s upper arm and near lifted him, dragging him to a door Stiles had honestly never noticed before, hidden in the framework under the stairs. A basement.

 

Peter opened the door and threw Michael into the dark, before slamming it shut and pulling over a bolt. Stiles immediately raced for the door and scrabbled at it.

 

“Stiles!” Peter snarled, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ middle and turning them around. Stiles’ breaths were coming short and fast.

 

“I can’t hear. I can’t hear his heartbeat. Where’s his heartbeat? Peter -”

 

“You think I would end Michael for a temper tantrum? Don’t you trust me?” Peter asked, claws extending into Stiles’ torso, attempting to hold back his struggles.

 

“His heartbeat. It’s gone. I can’t. I can’t -”

 

Stiles was nearly frantic by now, sobbing hysterically, his own claws out and scratching at Peter’s arms.

 

“You really do think I’d kill him because of a teenaged strop,” Peter stated. Stiles whimpered. “Basement’s soundproof.”

 

Stiles shook his head. “No. I can’t hear -”

 

“Because it’s soundproof,” Peter repeated patiently.

 

It took a few more moments for the information to sink in. It took a few more after that for his breathing to become regular again. Then his whole body sagged back against Peter, an absent tear running down his cheek.

 

“Don’t you dare cut him off from me so suddenly again. Understand?” Stiles warned.

 

“I’m sorry I put you in so much distress,” Peter answered stiffly, turning Stiles around in his arms.

 

“That’s fine,” Stiles replied coolly.

 

“Would you like to apologise for assuming I’d kill my beta for breaking a bit of wood?” Peter asked while kissing away a few errand tears still clinging to Stiles’ face.

 

“I’m sorry Peter. I definitely overreacted. Wasn’t thinking straight,” Stiles sighed.

 

“My feeling were deeply, deeply, hurt,” Peter lamented.

 

Stiles pressed his lips together before replying. “How can I make it up to you?”

 

Peter smirked. “Well…”

-

 

Stiles woke up the second Peter left the bed. He had been on tender hooks all day, waiting for Peter to release Michael from the basement. He simply couldn’t settle his nerves until he put eyes on Mikey for himself, until he could feel his heartbeat under his hands.

 

Stiles glanced over at the clock. Two am.

 

Stiles lay under the thin blankets waiting, when Peter’s heartbeat dropped out of existence Stiles’ own heart skittered wild. A cold fear slicked up his bones. He would be unable to track Peter’s mood, his expectations, what he did to Michael – everything. Peter would be completely off the radar in that room. Peter could die.

 

Stiles closed his eyes and counted sheep in prime numbers until he could hear their heartbeats again. He looked back at the clock. Four am.

 

Peter slipped back into bed soon enough, reaching out and grabbing Stiles.

 

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly.

 

Stiles shook his head. “I woke myself,” he answered just as gently, lifting a hand and pressing it to Peter’s chest. A little bit of tension eased from his shoulders. “I need to – I need to look at him,” Stiles pleaded. “Please, Peter. I won’t calm down till I _see_ -”

 

Stiles cut himself off and pressed his hand more firmly down on the pulse he could feel through Peter’s skin.

 

“I hate that room. I’ve been a wreck all day.”

 

“You’ve coped well,” Peter answered, rubbing his hands up and down Stiles’ back. Stiles snorted. “You have. A few months ago you would have let this control you, your eating habits. Today you were in control of it. That’s amazing progress,” Peter praised, his hands slipping down to grope at his ass. Stiles pressed his forehead into Peter’s chest, trying to think of what words would let him see Michael.

 

“That’s because I have you to help me now. You make me better. You and the pack make me stable,” Stiles answered. Peter gave his ass a squeeze.

 

“You’re not going to sleep until I let you see him, are you?” Peter groaned.

 

“Then I’ll be grouchy all day,” Stiles added, glancing up and grinning at him with a cheeky smile. Peter rolled his eyes.

 

“Go on then,” he said letting go of him. Stiles rolled over Peter to get out the bed and flung on some sweatpants before rushing down the stairs to Michael’s room. He could smell the blood from down the hallway. His heart leapt into his mouth for the last few steps to Michael’s side.

 

“Mikey? Hey munchkin, come on,” Stiles beseeched, sinking on the floor next to the mattress. “Look at me.”

 

Michael cracked his eyes open blearily. “Stiles,” he breathed out, relieved. Tears sprang to Stiles’ eyes as he smiled.

 

“Hey,” Stiles replied, feeling inadequate. Mikey gave a grin through a fat lip.

 

“Hey,” he croaked out. Stiles snorted, giving way to hysterical crying giggles.

 

“You need anything?” Stiles asked twisting their fingers together and scooting closer.

 

“Dunno,” Michael’s voice was wafer thin. “What’s the damage? Everything’s just sore to me.”

 

Stiles glanced down. He had been trying to avoid that.

 

“I think that’s because everything’s been hit,” Stiles said thickly. “I can’t believe he -”

 

“It’s okay. Slate’s clear now.”

 

Stiles swallowed a lump in his throat, mouth going dry. That was always his attitude after Peter punished him. It drew a line under the incident. Peter wouldn’t hold a grudge against him. He was in the clear. “You want me to stay?”

 

“Please?” Michael’s voice trembled, his eyes closed and pain flashed across his features. “It was so dark. Pitch black. I couldn’t see. Then the blows started coming at me and I couldn’t -” Michael gasped. “I couldn’t do anything I -”

 

“Shh, shh,” Stiles comforted, lying down beside him, pressing his nose into Mikey’s cheek, hospital bed etiquette of not disturbing injuries embedded deep into his muscle memory. “It’s over now, I’ve got you. God, I… I couldn’t hear your heartbeat,” Stiles whispered. Michael turned his head, brushing their noses in an eskimo kiss.

 

“I couldn’t hear yours,” he whispered back.

 

The lay back in silence, Stiles petting Michael’s hair until they both fell asleep.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles glanced up from inside the chimney grate and eased back into the living room, wiping his manky hands on his jeans.

 

“Hey.”

 

Michael slumped down onto the floor next to Stiles, letting his broom hit the ground carelessly. Stiles bumped his shoulder against Michael’s.

 

“You alright?”

 

“Sweeping is hard. The floor is huge,” he complained.

 

Stiles snorted. “At least you don’t have to clear out the chimney,” Stiles shuddered looking into the grate.

 

“He really means it, doesn’t he,” Michael barely whispered. “Staying here. We wouldn’t be doing all this,” he waved his hand around. “If he didn’t mean it – right? The whole family pack thing.”

 

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe he just wants to keep us busy. Maybe we’re going to travel from old abandoned house to the next cleaning it. Like magic spring-cleaning elves.”

 

“Do you think elves exist? Like other magic things. Dragons and witches and mermaids and stuff?” Michael asked lying back on the floor. Stiles rolled his eyes and poked him in the side. Michael yelped and sat up. “Unfair, man.”

 

“Got more to do before lunch,” Stiles said. “Go on, get,” he said making a shooing motion. Michael groaned and pulled him and his broom upright.

 

“I think elves exist,” he grumbled.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

“Are you happy?”

 

Michael jumped a mile from where he was leaning on his shoulder in the doorway to his room.

 

“What?” Michael replied startled.

 

Peter smiled gently, gliding closer until they were both in the doorway. Michael moved to accommodate Peter’s intrusion into the space, leaning against the frame with his back, feet planting themselves on either side of Peter.

 

“With your room. Are you happy?”

 

Michael blinked. “I, uh, dunno… I haven’t thought about it.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, taking Michael’s wrist and pulling him off the frame. “Now I _know_ that isn’t true,” he remarked, placing his hands on Michael’s hip and positioning him in front of him, facing into the room. “You’ve been sleeping in this room because it had a mattress in it, no other reason. Do you want a different room?” Peter breathed into Michael’s ear. Michael shook his head. “Are the floorboards sound? The windows aren’t drafty? The door doesn’t hang off the hinges? I’ve noticed you never close it,” Peter continued, moving his arms around Michael’s middle.

 

“Never really seemed like a point. Doors don’t hide anything in this house,” Michael replied lightly. Peter chuckled, moving past Michael and into the room properly.

 

“No I suppose they don’t. Not for you. Not anymore.”

 

Michael huffed and followed Peter into the room, settling against the wall near the window. Peter watched him with a soft smile.

 

“You’ve taken to your wolf like a duck takes to water, Michael. I couldn’t be more proud of your transformation.”

 

Michael looked down at his feet and scuffed his shoe on the bare floorboards. “Thanks,” he muttered.

 

“Michael,” Peter stated with intent, moving swiftly over to him and lifting his face gently so Michael would look into his eyes. “You have gone above and beyond my expectations. You make us all stronger for being here. Don’t doubt that.”

 

Michael could feel his eyes burn and a well of emotions bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been happy with him, let alone proud. He let out an embarrassing supersonic whine that was close to a whimper. Peter simply pulled him in close and let Michael clutch onto him like a needy puppy, tears trickling down his cheek and landing on Peter’s shoulder. Eventually Michael started to feel better and his tears settled down. Peter pressed a kiss into his temple and stepped away, squeezing the nape of his neck.

 

“You let me know about the room, alright?”

 

Michael snorted and sniffed as Peter left the room, trying to regain his equilibrium. “Sure thing, man.”

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

The sun filtered through the trees around the beach clearing, casting shapes and shadows in the dark trees. Michael loved the forest here. He had never lived somewhere near so much woodland before, and knowing that his pack owned it – that it was in part _his_ …

 

Michael watched as Stiles threw a stone, letting it skip across the lake all the way across to the other side, smiling lightly as it embedded itself in the sand on the other side. Michael huffed and made a face at him; throwing his own stone across the lake and hearing it lose its velocity and seeing it plop into the middle of the lake. He sighed at its failure. Stiles laughed.

 

“Come here, munchkin, I’ll show you how it’s done,” Stiles teased, reaching out and closing his fingers gently over Michael’s wrist, pulling. Michael rolled his eyes but let Stiles draw him in. Stiles fished a stone off the ground and pressed it into Michael’s palm. Michael stared at it before being distracted by Stiles’ fingers curling round the back of his neck. Michael’s breath caught for a moment in his throat as the fingers slid up and down his neck ever so slightly. He prayed Stiles wouldn’t notice.

 

“Hold it like this,” Stiles said running his fingers along Michael’s, entwining and pressing, casually running a thumb over his pulse, casually intimate. Michael hated how casually intimate Stiles could be. “Throw from the wrist. Bend your knees a little, try and get parallel to the water.” Stiles pressed a knee into the back of Michael’s own, pressing along Michael’s side. Michael concentrated on keeping his breathing even, the last thing he needed was to shift when throwing rocks in the lake. “Okay, release,” Stiles said stepping away. Michael threw the stone, it skipped much further than it had before. Michael grinned, turning to Stiles. Stiles gathered him up in a hug and spun him around. Michael pressed his nose into Stiles’ shoulder and inhaled.

 

“Knew you could do it,” Stiles said with a grin, then swept at Michael’s legs, sending him toppling. “Race you to the house!”

 

Michael squawked. “Cheater!” he cried out, laughing as he ran.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Michael curled up into a ball on his makeshift bed. He was on the floor below Peter and Stiles’ room, but that didn’t help with the noise with ears like his.

 

“ _So beautiful, Stiles, come on, you can take it…_ ”

 

Michael shut his eyes tight, claws slowly protruding. Michael tried desperately to control his breathing, tried to calm the fast thump-thump-thump of his heart. In. One. Out. In. Two. Out. In. Hold. Out. Inholdout. Inholdoutinholdoutinholdout.

 

Michael tried to breathe through it – it was easier to ignore them at the start when it was just Peter, but then Stiles would start. Start panting and moaning and gasping and whimpering and… and then Michael couldn’t ignore how aroused he was anymore.

 

Michael turned over and shoved his head under his pillow, trying to muffle the sounds they were making, images slowly trickling into his mind. Stiles’ smile, his eyes, his bare chest in the morning light… - it was sheer luck that nobody had noticed his crush yet. Sometimes he was convinced Peter knew, then other times it seemed like Peter was completely unaware.

 

Michael breathed in and out, trying to focus his hearing on one sound only, muting all others: Stiles’ heart.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

“You going to help me with the dishes?” Stiles asked lightly, hands already covered in soap bubbles.

 

Peter snuck up behind him and slipped his hands under Stiles’ shirt and around waist pulling him away slightly from the sink.

 

“This is not helping,” Stiles chided.

 

“Hmm…” Peter hummed, fingers skimming along Stiles’ skin, thumbs pressing into Stiles’ back dimples. “You should get Michael to do them.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “He’s not a slave, Peter. You can’t just fob off chores on him. Chores you never do,” Stiles said turning his head slightly. Peter caught his lips in a kiss, hands moving round the front and dipping slightly beneath the waistband of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles broke the kiss off. “Dishes first,” he said stepping away. Peter pressed his nose into Stiles neck and growled. Stiles snorted. “You’re not fooling me, o alpha, grab a towel you can dry.” Peter sighed but moved round to stand beside Stiles at the sink, towelling the dishes dry. Stiles smiled, a warm feeling growing in his chest.

 

“What?”

 

Stiles shook his head, smile growing wider. “Nothing.”

 

\-------------------------------------------

Michael sat, his back pressed up against the lumpy sofa as Peter lounged on it, gently carding his hand through Michael’s hair. Stiles watched the repetitive motion from where he was curled up on Peter’s chest, eyes drifting shut slowly.

 

“We’re nearly finished with the exterior of the house,” Peter commented.

 

“Which salesman managed to get you to buy a house with so many holes in the roof anyway?” Michael asked twisting round, pressing his chin into the couch cushion.

 

“A supernaturally excellent one,” Peter said bopping a finger on Michael’s nose. Michael made a face. Stiles snorted. Michael made a new face at him. Stiles made one back.

 

“Children?” Stiles and Mikey turned their heads slightly to look at their Alpha. “I’d like us to finish the outside before autumn overtakes us. So we’ll concentrate on that. Do one last big push. Everything else can go on a back burner.”

 

“Like getting me an actual bed?” Michael muttered, picking at the loose hem of the lumpy couch. Peter slipped his hand under Michael’s chin and pulled his head back up.

 

“Is the mattress doing you any harm?”

 

Michael sighed heavily. “No.”

 

“Then I’m sure you can live with it a little longer, hm?” Peter asked raising an eyebrow. Michael huffed but pressed his cheek into Peter’s hand. Peter hummed, ruffled his hair, and rested his hand on the nape of his neck. “I suppose you ought to head up, anyway.”

 

“But -”

 

“Seeing as Stiles has passed out on my chest.”

 

Michael blinked and glanced down at Stiles. Eyes closed, mouth drooling. Michael hid his grin.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Goodnight, Mikey. You did well today,” Peter commended. Michael rolled his eyes.

 

“Sure did, Alpha,” he agreed and without prompting knelt up for his kiss to the cheek. Peter squeezed the back of his neck and let go.

 

“Pleasant dreams.”

 

“Right back at ya.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, did we know about Goodreads and the reviews thingies on there! I'm in love with all of them. I don't get to respond/see them on my comments here so a wee shout out to you for being lovely human beings who like my work enough to write things about it!
> 
> As always, what did we think? Does it all make sense?
> 
> Sorry (not sorry(how do you do strikethrough on this?)) about the wait!
> 
> This bit has less plot than stories usually have, but YOLO with plot. Who needs it? I'll introduce you to it later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical Torture
> 
> see end note for details

Michael lay on the roof, claws idly picking at flecks in the roofing as Stiles hammered into the shingles. Michael always felt better with his claws out.

 

“How do you think Peter learned how to DIY a house back together?” Michael asked. Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“I have no clue how Peter does anything, never mind DIY,” Stiles grumbled.

 

“Like what?” Michael asked twisted, looking over at him.

 

“Money. Hotels. Navigation. Trading cars. Clothes. Books. I.D,” Stiles ranted, hitting the hammer off the nails. “He was in a coma for six years, how does someone plan a murder spree, a getaway plan, and a house in the wilderness. How did he find me? How did he find you?”

 

Stiles caught Michael clenching his jaw before he lay back down, eyes up to the sky. “Might rain soon,” he stated, changing subject abruptly.

 

“Indeed it might.”

 

Both Stiles and Michael jumped at Peter’s voice. Stiles felt a small bead of anxiety rise up in him. “Hey, you,” he said lifting his head. Peter leaned down and gave a kiss, passing him a water bottle.

 

“Working hard?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow at Michael still sprawled out on the roof.

 

“Course I am,” Stiles replied, taking the attention off Mikey. “Lunch?”

 

“As soon as Michael’s finished making it,” Peter answered. Michael groaned but stood up.

 

“This is so lame, we’ve done nothing but work all summer,” he complained.

 

“You’ll thank me in the winter,” Peter said coolly. “Besides, there’s always next summer. Stop complaining,” he finished. Then kicked Michael in the knees, sending him toppling off the roof. Stiles sprang up.

 

“No!”

 

Stiles heard Michael hit the ground before he saw him: heard bones crunch and crack, the wheezing breaths and agonized yells. Peter gently took Stiles’ wrist and pulled him away from the edge.

 

“He’s fine, darling. Come on, we can get this section done before we break to eat.”

 

Stiles felt a strange numbness invade him. In strange detachment He watched himself slowly pick up a hammer and slam it into Peter’s face. Then calmly went back in a window and climbed the stairs down to the ground floor, then went out to the patio where Michael was lying.

 

“Hey Mikey,” Stiles said softly kneeling next to him. “What first?”

 

“I think there’s something in my back?” Michael whined out. Stiles gently slid a hand under Michael and searched until he hit a rock. He lifted Michael up gently and pulled the rock out and away.

 

“Alright. Now what?”

 

“My hip, I don’t know, it just hurts.”

 

Stiles pulled up Michael’s shirt and winced. “I think you’ve dislocated it, I’m not sure.”

 

“Move over.”

 

Stiles was blind sighted as Peter shoved Stiles out of the way. Peter pressed down on Michael’s hip - slotting it back into place, then moved on to realigning and setting Michael’s leg and arm.

 

“There. You’ll be fine.”

 

Michael groaned, turning to spit out some blood. “Sure.”

 

Peter turned and took Stiles by the shoulders. “Come along,” he said quietly. Stiles stood with no resistance. Michael could feel his heart pounding as Peter led him away. Felt a little bit sick as he heard the basement door slam shut and Stiles’ heart blip out of existence.

 

Michael stayed down until Peter was back, looming over him. He flinched slightly as he knelt beside him and fingers grazed his cheek.

 

“He has grown far more attached to you than I’d thought.”

 

Michael swallowed. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Michael, don’t be stupid. I can’t abide it.” Michael ground his teeth together.

 

“Yes, I supposed it would make Stiles more upset if you took away his only playmate,” Michael groused.

 

Peter frowned and gave a funny look. “It would, but that is only second to the reason you will not be leaving. Michael,” Peter said gently gripping his jaw. “You’re mine. My beta, my pup, my pack. You are beside me because it is your place. Now get up,” Peter said pulling Michael to his feet. “And stop being so stupid.”

 

Michael was unsteady on his feet, but not from the fall. Most of his wounds were already healed now. Peter had said long ago that he needed a right hand man, Michael had never taken him seriously before, but now…

 

“You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?” Michael asked suddenly. “The long con.”

 

Peter gave a soft grin and ruffled Michael’s hair. “Don’t you?”

 

*

 

Mikey was right about the basement. It was dark.

 

And the silence was suffocating. And even though Stiles knew exactly where the walls were, he still felt claustrophobic. Like the black could swallow him whole. Time was fleeting and forever. It was screwing him up a bit. He hadn't been scared of the dark since he was a kid. His mom would...

 

For a long time his mom would kiss him on the head, switch off the light, and crack open the door. Which was awful because shapes and shadows and unexplained noises and adhd. Then when the diagnosis came in she tried a nightlight. Nothing unexplained or imagined out of darkness.

 

Stiles struggled to remember what her voice used to sound like. God it feels like so long ago. He tells people he lost his mom when he was eight. Reality is he was six when his mom started to get lost. Gone from being her little angel to being her hyperactive little bastard.

 

Stiles' eyes flared up golden but it didn't create much excess light. He was flying blind. He had been flying blind for so long now.

 

He missed his dad.

 

Stiles curled up into a ball and sobbed into his knees. His crying was absorbed by the walls instead of echoing - like it was private. Nothing was ever private in this house.

 

His dad would probably be thinking about putting officers on to patrol the Beacon Hills' Flower Festival. For whatever reason it attracted a lot of hippies and illegal drugs sales happened everywhere - especially for loser teenagers trying to score. Stiles always thought it was hilarious. The flower show run by Mrs Thacher; a hotbed of crime.

 

Scott would be pulling extra hours at whatever part time job he had gotten. Maybe he was still at the vet's. Scott had liked the vet's - better than the paper round at least.

 

Stiles shut his eyes as tight as he could, letting his imagination and memories take him away, take him home. Run home, Jack.

 

***

 

When the door eventually opened the light seared so deeply into Stiles' eyeballs it felt like he was being blinded all over again. Even after the door closed and the darkness consumed his vision again Peter's silhouette was etched everywhere he looked.

 

It reminded him of headlights. Blood dripping off fingertips onto the ground.

 

He could hear Peter's heartbeat, steady, somewhere.

 

“Peter?”

 

His voice was louder, brasher than Stiles had intended, like a clanging symbol. Stiles winced.

 

Movement. A rustle. A quick scuff of the feet. Peter could be silent. A game. Stiles clenched his teeth.

 

It reminded him of when Peter would tie him up for some reason. He didn't understand why, but it made him just as afraid and uncertain.

 

“Peter, please.”

 

Hands wrapped around his ankles and Stiles hit the ground, being pulled, scrabbling for purchase. It was the start of every horror movie he had ever seen and he couldn't even breath in deeply enough to scream.

 

Suddenly it stopped. Stiles clambered to his hands and knees before a blow to his back had him flattened out on the floor again.

 

Stiles lay panting into the cold concrete floor, not even daring to move. It felt like hours had passed when he felt it. A pressure at the top of thumb, pressed down. Lightly but then growing in force until it was painful. Stiles whined lightly beginning to tug at his hand but a powerful grip took his bicep, effecticely pinning his arm down. Stiles struggled as the pain in his thumb grew unbearable and then he heard it. So quiet he nearly missed it. Snick.

 

Stiles was in shock for a moment before it hit him. He screamed and gouged his claws into Peter's arm, trying to get out of his grip.

 

His fingernail. Peter had pulled out his fingernail.

 

He was held down until he stopped fighting, until his screams of rage and pain became whimpers. Stiles was once again panting into the floor. It felt like another hour had passed when he felt it. A light pressure at the top of his index finger.

 

“No. No Peter please, please Peter don't...”

 

Stiles jabbered his pleas into the silence as the pressure grew painful again. Stiles felt his fangs emerge from his gums as the realisation sunk in. His fingernails were going to be ripped out. One by one.

 

His scream was more of a roar this time. He sunk claws into the arms pinning him again, swinging blindly into the space hoping for a chance at landing a blow. Eventually Stiles lost his fight and the waiting began again.

 

“Just do it, just hurry up and do it please. Don't do this, Peter. Don't torture me by waiting.”

 

His plea went unheard. Stiles felt himself drifting in the black with only the pain to focus on, whimpering as his nails - his claws - already started the slow process of regrowing.

 

Then the pressure. Middle finger. The pain. The begging. Snick. Again. Stiles didn't bother fighting back this time, he sunk his claws in just for the satisfaction of hurting him back.

 

If he was going to be declawed he was going to strike back while he still could. Eventually the position was too hard to hold and he let his arm and claws drop.

 

Then it was the waiting again. God, why was he waiting when Stiles knew what he was going to do. Come on get it over with. Come on, come on, _comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon_ –

 

Pressure at the top of his ring finger.

 

Stiles nearly cried in relief.

 

The pain built up. Stiles kicked with his legs in frustration and pain. Snick. Stiles cried into the ground.

 

Wait. Pain. Snick. Went his pinkie.

 

The grip removed itself from Stiles’ arm and he heaved a sigh of relief, until it clamped down on his other arm. Stiles gave a pitiful cry of resistance. Then waited, panic creeping higher with each second going by. Then Peter started on the next hand.

 

*

 

Hours later and Stiles had no fingernails. No claws. God it hurt.

 

The door opened a sliver, the tiniest amount of light too much for him. Stiles closed his eyes against it but it didn’t go away. Eventually his eyes adjusted. The door opened gradually, until Stiles could see without it hurting. Peter gathered him up and took him out. He passed out before they got up the stairs.

 

*

 

Peter sat up on the bed eyes trained to Stiles’ sleeping face, a little frown creased inbetween his eyes. Stiles was tucked into the sheets, his fingers wrapped up neatly in bandages, out of the way. Poor thing collapsed before they’d even made it out the basement, exhausted and trembling and submitting before Peter had even finished the punishment – but he had needed to take a hard line. No using hammers against him. Ever. Now here Stiles was tucked between the sheets looking every inch the perfect little angel Peter wanted. How funny, he thought absently smoothing down the covers.

 

“What is it?”

 

Peter directed his question at the presence hovering outside his bedroom door. Michael opened the door and waited in the doorway.

 

“He came to see me when I…” Michael murmured. Peter eyed Michael up and down. Hunched shoulders, arms crossed, head ducked - so defensive, always on guard, wolf always eager to rise to the surface. The boy needed comfort and stability even if he never admitted it.

 

“Come here,” he said opening up his arm. Michael clenched his jaw slightly but moved in beside Peter easily, twisting himself against the headboard so he could watch Stiles sleep. Peter wrapped his arm round Michael’s shoulders. “He’s going to be fine,” Peter assured him, rubbing his hand up and down Michael’s shoulder. “It was a good idea.”

 

“Shut up,” Michael said coldly.

 

“I might not have another opportunity to congratulate you on your ingenuity -”

 

Michael stood up abruptly, moving away, but Peter caught his wrist. Michael stilled.

 

“I do these things for a reason, Michael.”

 

“It’s your reasoning that I’m worried about,” Michael muttered.

 

“I’m not sure why,” Peter replied evenly. “It’s doubtful I’ll snap and actually kill you. I’m far more likely to punish you into submission. Just like I have today.”

 

“With Stiles.”

 

“And you. Although I didn’t think you’d pick something quite so vindictive as pulling out his -”

 

“Stop it,” Michael spat, then took a moment to compose himself. Peter let himself smirk ever so slightly.

 

“The punishment fit the crime, I wouldn’t have let you pick anything less,” he said softly. “And now it’s over. Sit back down, won’t you?” he asked, tugging lightly at Michael’s wrist. Michael resisted, but his resolve crumbled and he soon burrowed himself into Peter’s side.

 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he said, muffled into his jumper. Peter rolled his eyes at the charade, but played along.

 

“That’s alright, Michael, I understand, it’s alright,” Peter crooned, soothing the boy. One day the boy wouldn’t have to pretend to be a perfect beta, one day the lie would have sunk into his psyche and it wouldn’t be an act, it would be his nature. Until then Peter was happy to go along with the pretense. "It's been a trying day for all of us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Physical Torture - Stiles is locked into a pitch black room. Peter then removes Stiles fingernails. It's not gory, more suspense driven. You can totes skip/skim it tbh. No plot points are in there.
> 
> -
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes in this one my merry folk. I don't know whether I proof read it very well...
> 
> Also I've had a small burst in people commenting and whatnot - did someone do a promo somewhere? 
> 
> Thank you for my lovely comments, I try to answer any questions or musings, but even if I've not managed to reply I still love you!


	7. Chapter 7

It had taken a month to regrow his fingernails. Stiles thought he could still feel them grow when he stayed still enough at night, listening to the noises the house made as the wood settled and swelled and creaked like big empty houses do. The kitchen was Stiles’ favourite room. It was big, falling apart with bold seventies design choices, and a huge empty space where a dining table obviously stood - but it had big windows above the sink, and it felt… safe, like a home.  
  
Why had Peter gotten such a big house?  
  
Stiles ignored that question the way he ignored most things in his life. He ignored the way that food magically appeared in the cupboards. He ignored the aching gnawing hole his dad (and his mom) used to fill. He ignored the thump-thump Michael’s heart would make when they got to close for too long. He ignored the clawed fingertips Peter dug into his hips until he was bleeding. He ignored the stillness that came over Peter every once in a while. He ignored the dripping noise in the ground floor bathroom. He ignored the bloodlust he felt in the afternoons when he was tired. He ignored the holes in the knees of his jeans. He ignored it because facing the truth of the matter would drive him crazy, and he’s only just managed to settle into some sort of sanity with Peter.  
  
Michael slumped into the kitchen, sitting down at the breakfast bar and propping his head up with his hands. Stiles laughed and put down his bowl of cereal to fetch Michael some. “Tired?”  
  
“Peter woke me to run the perimeter,” Michael moaned, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes. “At like, dawn.” Stiles popped the cereal down in front of Michael. “Do you know how big the perimeter is?”  
  
Stiles shook his head. “No, actually,” he said sitting across from Michael and returning to his breakfast.  
  
“Massive,” Michael sighed, grabbing the spoon and shovelling food into his mouth. “I only ran it once. Peter runs it at least five times a day I think.”  
  
“Explains why we hardly ever see him,” Stiles grinned. Michael grinned back, cereal in his teeth.  
  
“Gross dude,” Stiles snorted.  
  
“Haven’t you ever run the perimeter with him?” Michael asked. Stiles raised an eyebrow.  
  
“He doesn’t let me out the house without a chaperone, Mikey. You really think he’s going to show me the way off his territory?”  
  
Michael slowed for a moment, thinking. “I guess I forgot.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Would you?”  
  
Stiles blinked. “Would I what?”  
  
Michael shrugged. “Run.”  
  
_Run home._  
  
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Stiles sniffed, turning to dump his bowl in the sink.  
  
“Peter can’t hear you.”  
  
“Mikey -”  
  
“Or do you already have a plan?”  
  
“Michael!” Stiles shouted, breaths getting short. “Shut. Up.”  
  
Michael stilled, staring at Stiles before going back to the cereal.  
  
“I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to,” Michael commented. Stiles frowned at him. “I can barely control my shift. Can you imagine me trying to queue in the supermarket with my new wolfiness?” Michael snorted. “I’d kill someone. Oh, and also, according to the cops, I’ve killed someone.”  
  
Stiles sighed. “Have you even tried controlling your shift?”  
  
“Peter says it comes with time.”  
  
“It comes with _practice_. You could have all the time in the world and it wouldn’t matter because you never tried. It’s like…” Stiles flailed. “Buying a guitar and never playing it. It’ll take time to learn, but you actually have to, you know, _learn_.”  
  
Michael groaned. “You’re taking all the fun out of this.”  
  
“I hadn’t realised _fun_ was part of your agenda.”  
  
Mikey grinned at him, chomping on his breakfast.  
  
“You haven’t even asked me what my agenda is.”  
  
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You have an agenda?”  
  
“Staying alive is top of the list at the moment.”  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes. “That is not an agenda.”  
  
Michael tilted his head. “Isn’t it?”  
  
Stiles opened his mouth to retort before hearing a tale tell heartbeat just at the edge of his awareness. Michael smirked.  
  
“Oh, shut up, you did not win.”  
  
Michael chuckled into his cereal.  
  
“Let’s see who’s laughing after a day of replacing window panes,” muttered Stiles.  
  
-  
  
They had dinner on the beach. Down on the sand. Stiles dug his toes in as Michael brought out a pot, bowls, cutlery, whatever else they needed. Peter dragged a log from… somewhere…  and dropped it behind Stiles. Stiles leaned back against it as Peter sat down on it.  
  
“We should have a bonfire,” Stiles said looking back at Peter. Peter shrugged.  
  
“If you want, sure.”  
  
“Would you be alright around fire?” Stiles asked. Peter paused.  
  
“I don’t actually know,” Peter murmured. “I suppose we’ll just have to find out.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t you be okay with fire?” Michael asked plonking down next to Stiles on the ground, passing out bowls.  
  
“I was massively burned when my family was murdered,” Peter stated nonchalantly. “Is that chicken?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, it uh, is,” Michael stuttered. “With like, diced potatoes in it.”  
  
“Smells wonderful,” Peter said.  
  
“Uh, yeah, smells good, Mikey,” Stiles added. Michael flashed him a grin.  
  
“I’ll teach you how to make it, then next time I can be the one lazing on the beach.”  
  
Stiles snorted. “If you want to put me in the kitchen then whatever disaster occurs is your fault.”  
  
“You can't be that bad,” Michael laughed. “I've been cooking since I was six. If a six year old can do it you can do it.”  
  
Stiles sighed. “You're just jinxing this even more.”  
  
“No such thing,” Michael taunted sticking his tongue out. Stiles made a face.  
  
“It would probably be a good thing to help Michael,” Peter chimed in, reaching over to sqeeze the back of Michael's neck. “We wouldn't want to put too much on him.”  
  
Stiles sulked as Michael preened.  
  
“You know I do believe it's nearly finished,” Peter said staring up at the house. “We should probably paint it too.”  
  
Michael groaned. “Oh my god, the smell of paint already gave me a headache, I'm gonna pass out with my werewolf nose.”  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. “I'm sure you'd recover.”  
  
Michael huffed and stuck out his tongue. “So where are we building this bonfire?”  
  
“Nearer the water is probably best,” Peter said. “We wouldn’t want to set the forest on fire now, would we?” Peter asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
Michael grinned. “Now would I do a thing like that?”  
  
“Definitely,” Stiles and Peter said at the same time. They laughed as Michael pouted, flouncing away and starting to build the bonfire. Peter slid down onto the ground next to Stiles. Stiles leaned against him.  
  
“What colour are should we paint it?”  
  
“What?” Stiles replied, still staring at Michael dancing around, sniffing out dry wood big enough for a fire.  
  
“The house,” Peter replied wrapping an arm around Stiles.  
  
“Hm… yellow,” Stiles answered. Peter nodded.  
  
“I like yellow,” he said.  
  
“Really?” Stiles asked sceptically.  
  
“Houses come in all kinds of colours Stiles, yellow is actually quite common.”  
  
Stiles squinted. “Maybe we’re thinking of different shades.”  
  
“Almost certainly,” Peter said. “But I never said you could pick the shade,” he said grinning. Stiles mouth hung open in shock.  
  
“You dirty, dirty, liar!” Stiles squealed with a shove. “See if I pick any colours for you ever again!”  
  
Peter laughed as Stiles marched off toward the woodpile Michael had made. Michael grinned at him and shook some matches at him.  
  
“Found them in the kitchen. Let’s get this started.”  
  
It took nearly fifteen minutes before it became an actual fire and by then Peter had dragged the sitting log over, Michael had found marshmallows and kebab skewers, and Stiles had burnt his finger.  
  
Peter gathered Stiles up in his arms and kissed him better while Michael leaned against Peter’s side. They roasted the marshmallows in the flickering fire, red and hot and smoking. It smelt like gasoline and tasted like fear.  
  
_“Get out.”_  
  
_Stiles jumped out the car and Peter grabbed him and dragged him to the boot. Peter popped the boot open._  
  
_“Oh my god!”_  
  
_Peter reached down and lifted an unconscious Kate into his arms. Stiles was still staring at the nurse. Dead nurse. Dead for maybe a day nurse. Peter shrugged. “I got better. Grab that rope, that gasoline, and that box of matches won't you?”_  
  
_Stiles felt sick to his stomach as he picked up the items under Peter's intense gaze. “Good boy. Follow me.”_  
  
Peter nipped his ear and Stiles flinched. His heart racing. Stiles blinked. It didn’t smell like gasoline and it tasted like sugary marshmallows.  
  
“Sorry,” Stiles croaked. “I didn’t think…”  
  
Peter hummed. “Neither did I. You remembering her?”  
  
Stiles twisted to look at Peter’s face, staring into the flames. “Yeah.”  
  
Peter smiled. “Me too.”  
  
+  
  
The weather was starting to turn colder, Stiles thought as he and Michael went stomping through the forest. Stiles could hear Michael’s breathing get a bit more laboured so he stopped as they came to a clearing. Michael flopped down onto a tree stump, Stiles slumped down next to him, also tired. It had been a hard night.  
  
Stiles started slightly as Michael moved to sit in front of him. Stiles stared at him as he raised a hand to Stiles’ face, pressing fingertips into the red and vicious bite mark at the corner of his eye. Stiles flinched.  
  
“It’s… he,” Stiles started to explain when Michael cut him off.  
  
“He bit you when you were crying,” Stiles could smell and hear the body signals of embarrassment and shame and a slight hint of arousal. “I… I hear.”  
  
Stiles grit his teeth and looked away. Damnit.  
  
“I’m sorry, I -”  
  
“No, Mikey, you’re not the one in the wrong here. You’re never in the wrong here, alright?” Stiles said. Suddenly the pain throbbing across Stiles’ face vanished and Michael gasped. Stiles smacked Michael’s hand from his face. “What did you just do?” he whispered, hand going up to the bite mark. It was still there. Stiles heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what he’d do if that mark had appeared on Mikey’s face instead.  
  
“I don’t know. It hurts though,” Michael said gasping, trying to keep back tears. Stiles reached out and grabbed Michael into a cuddle, arms wrapping around him, chin on top of his head. Eventually Mikey’s shaking stopped and he leaned into Stiles a bit more. Stiles smiled a little.  
  
“You’re going to be taller than me soon,” he said. Michael chuckled and pressed into Stiles’ side. “Come on; let’s go ask Peter what the hell just happened and if we should expect any other super powers to show up.”  
  
Peter looked oddly delighted at the news Michael could take Stiles’ pain. They sat in front of the fireplace and brought in an abundance of woodland animals for Michael to practice on. Stiles rolled his eyes and went to make sandwiches for lunch.  
  
“Alright, Michael, this rabbit has a broken foot,” Peter said holding what seemed to be a terrified rabbit in his hands. “Put your hand on her and draw out the pain. It’ll be instinctive, like it was with Stiles,” Peter said sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with Michael. Michael reached out and placed his hand between its ears, feeling its tremors and rabbit fast little heart Michael couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. Then black lines appeared up his arm, Michael gasped as the pain hit him, a dull throb that made his fingertips ache. Peter smiled.  
  
“That’s wonderful, Michael. Just excellent. Tell me about how you felt,” he asked, setting the rabbit down. It stayed extremely still.  
  
“I felt pain, mainly in my fingertips – it hurt less than when I was with Stiles.”  
  
“Stiles would have been in more pain then,” Peter said running an absentminded hand over the rabbit’s fur.  
  
“But, a broken foot would be more painful, surely,” Michael questioned. Peter nodded.  
  
“That is something I don’t have the answer to. Maybe it’s because you’re both werewolves you can understand his pain better – maybe you drew more from him – maybe it’s to do with the fact it was an alpha wound. Maybe animals process pain differently, maybe the bunny has a higher pain tolerance than Stiles,” he said with a mischievous tone that made Michael grin. “Either way this is fantastic progress, Michael. This is a marker for you being a strong beta, growing into your powers, developing further. I’m proud of you,” Peter said clasping Michael’s shoulder. Michael smiled softly and Peter placed the bunny into Michael’s lap.  
  
“Can I - “  
  
“We are not keeping the rabbit.”  
  
Michael scowled.  
  
“If I see it, I'll kill it and have you cook it.”  
  
“Fine,” Michael huffed.  
  
****  
  
“So, I've been wanting to ask about...”  
  
Stiles glanced over at Michael, frowning a little. Peter had just ran out of their earshot leaving them to paint the south wall. Flecks of pale yellow paint dusted Michael's face and arms, Stiles looked down and saw his own arms similarly patterned. He slumped down next to Mikey, picking at the spots.  
  
“The whole fire thing?”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Stiles and Michael sat in silence for a few moments.  
  
“Stiles!”  
  
“What?” Stiles jumped, then looked over to a perplexed Mikey. “Yes. Sorry, just thinking.”  
  
“Thinking what?” Michael pressed.  
  
“Our first date. Peter shackled me to the house his family was murdered in and burned the woman who did it alive.”  
  
_Why did you throw up the first time? At the Hale house._  
  
“Sounds intense.”  
  
“Peter was different then,” Stiles said gently. “He was more...”  
  
Violent? Volatile? Controlling? Physical? Peter was still all those things.  
  
Or was it Stiles who had changed?  
  
“Run away with me,” Stiles blurted out suddenly. Michael stared at him with wide eyes.  
  
“What?” he barely dared to whisper.  
  
“You're getting better at your shift, we could leave, we could stand a chance.”  
  
Michael looked lost. “But Peter -”  
  
“Is a psycho who'll kill us. You know that.”  
  
Michael flinched as his words were thrown back in his face.  
  
“We're pack. He wouldn't.”  
  
“Michael I just saw him hit you with cupboard door.”  
  
Michael grit his teeth. “That's my fault I broke it - “  
  
“Mikey.”  
  
Michael looked distraught, tears forming in his eyes as he fought a corner he knew he wasn't going to win.  
  
“He's Alpha,” Michael whispered, implications and connotations flooded Stiles mind.  
  
“I know,” Stiles said gently.  
  
“I still can't control my bloody shift!” Michael cried. Stiles held still and silent, double checking Peter wasn't nearby.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I don't want to leave him,” Michael said strangely, like he had only just realised it.  
  
Stiles took a deep breath. “I know that too.”  
  
Michael stared at Stiles and slowly nodded.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Stiles stood up and went back to painting. Michael followed suit.  
  
+  
  
Stiles stood in the living room munching on his sandwich staring at the couch. The new couch. The new shiny leather corner couch. He heard Michael in the utility room, washing his feet before he traipsed through the kitchen and into the hallway/living room. Stupid open planning, Stiles never knew what to call anything.  
  
“Hey, what’s – woah,” Michael stopped. “That’s… new. When did it get here?”  
  
“Wasn’t it here before you went out?”  
  
“Nope, think I’d have seen that, and it was still the old thing before we went up last night.”  
  
“I’ve been here all day,” Stiles said. “I didn’t hear this happening. I think I would have heard people bringing this in. Or a car or lorry or whatever.”  
  
“Where’s Peter?” Michael asked sweeping his gaze up the way.  
  
“Upstairs. He’s commandeered the room down the hall from you.”  
  
Michael rolled his eyes. “So specific. There’s only seven other rooms on my floor.”  
  
Stiles snorted. “It’s not that bad.”  
  
“Yes it is.”  
  
Stiles blinked. “What?”  
  
“There are eight rooms on my floor.”  
  
“This house is a monster,” Stiles replied.  
  
“Yup,” Michael snorted, flouncing over to the stairs. “I’m gonna ask about the couch. Coming?”  
  
Stiles stared at the couch for a moment more before putting down his sandwich. “Yes,” he said rushing up after him. They got up the stairs and crowded round the door Peter was behind. Michael stared at Stiles and mouthed ‘you knock’. Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head and pointed at Michael, raising an eyebrow. Michael shook his head, and made a begging motion with his hands.  
  
“You know I know you’re out there,” came Peter’s voice from inside. Both boys jumped. Michael scrambled for the doorknob and opened it up.  
  
“Sorry,” he said with a grin, stepping into the room. “We were…”  
  
Michael stopped talking as he stared at the room.  
  
“Yes?” Peter asked from behind his desk, while putting a file into his filing cabinet, next to his bookcase filled with books.  
  
“You’ve made an office?” Stiles sputtered.  
  
Peter nodded. “Although I prefer to think of it as a study.”  
  
The whole room had been done up. Mahogany, oak, window seat, bookcases, the desk that divided the room in two, the laptop –  
  
Stiles let his eyes hone in on the laptop for a moment too long. “It’s not connected to the internet, Stiles.”  
  
Stiles felt his stomach turn and he snapped his eyes away from it.  
  
“I still don’t want you touching it – either of you,” he said sternly, glancing over at Michael who had gone suspiciously quiet. “Nor do you ever come in here without me, and if you are in here you don’t cross over to this side of the desk. Are we clear?”  
  
“Yes, Peter,” Stiles said quickly, giving Michael a nudge.  
  
“Yes, Peter,” Michael repeated tonelessly.  
  
“And the couch is for everyone, obviously,” Peter finished. “Anything else?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Stiles said.  
  
“Nope,” Michael popped out obnoxiously before leaving the room. Peter stared after him for a moment with a slight crease in his forehead. Stiles followed out after Michael, closing the door behind him. Michael was at the doorway of his room, staring at it.  
  
“Mikey -”  
  
“Let’s go to the beach,” Michael said with false cheeriness. Stiles frowned.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
The walk down to the beach was quiet, neither of them bothered putting on shoes, Michael didn’t stop at the beach though he kept walking until they reached a clearing.  
  
“This is where I released the rabbit,” Michael said softly. “It’s made a den over there I think, what’s it called. A burrow?”  
  
“I don’t know actually. What’s up?”  
  
Michael gritted his teeth. “He’s made himself a whole fucking office and I don’t even have a bed.”  
  
Stiles slumped down against a tree. “Oh.”  
  
Michael fangs dropped out and he gave a snarl. “It’s like he doesn’t even want me here sometimes.”  
  
“Mikey that’s not true -”  
  
“Stiles! I’m a fucking maid around here! All I ever do is cook and clean and get shoved off to the side when he wants to spent time with you!”  
  
“Mikey -”  
  
“I want to be more.”  
  
Stiles went quiet after Michael’s admission.  
  
“You are more, Mikey,” Stiles replied. “You’re my friend.”  
  
Michael gave a strange half sob-gasping noise before he slumped next the Stiles, claws out and eyes flashing.  
  
“I still want more,” he whispered. Stiles lifted a hand and rubbed Michael back.  
  
“I seriously doubt either of us will have more here,” Stiles said gently. “This might be it.”  
  
“I’m going for a run. I just… need to tire myself out a bit, yeah?”  
  
Stiles nodded. “Go for it.”  
  
-  
  
Michael ran for what seemed like hours and seconds all at once. He slumped down. He was near a ravine. He was in full beta shift, snarling as he sunk his claws down into a tree trunk, resting his forehead against the rough bark, anchoring, still, sweating, breathing. He could feel the wind. It was cold. There were animals crunching and nattering and moving all around him. The moon was half full, like a gemstone half in darkness, beautiful and hidden.  
  
“Michael.”  
  
Michael stamped down on the whimper. “Alpha,” he said evenly. Alpha - not uncle, not mister, not sir. Alpha. Different. Alpha.  
  
“You’ve ran for longer than I expected,” he said crouching down in front of him. “You’re getting stronger.”  
  
Michael flashed eyes at him. “You’re making me run the perimeter every day, what did you think would happen?” he jibed, breathless.  
  
“I thought you’d be too tired to outrun me for the rest of the day,” Peter retorted lightly. “But I doubt I would have been able to keep up with the frenzied speed you achieved tonight.”  
  
Michael frowned before looking up. Night-time. “Oh. Dinner. I -”  
  
Peter smirked. “You think me and Stiles incapable of managing a meal?” Peter reached out and smoothed down Michael’s wild hair. “Perhaps I have been putting too much pressure on you.”  
  
Michael ground his teeth together and leaned into the touch. He was tired now. He wanted to calm now. Alpha calm. Alpha strong shelter.  
  
“I simply thought the routine and responsibility would make you feel more settled. I made a mistake with Stiles that could have cost us everything.”  
  
Michael nodded in understanding, he still kept a check on how much Stiles ate at each mealtime. Healthy. Whole.  
  
“I want you to feel needed, indispensable,” Peter murmured. “Because you are. Because you belong here. I want you to feel at home here. With us. With me.”  
  
Michael whined at the ache in his heart. “Alpha -”  
  
Peter clasped the back of Michael’s neck and drew him in. “You’ve gone through a lot of changes these past few months, Michael. I am not unsympathetic, but I have plans for you. I want more from you, I expect more from you. You are a survivor at the moment. I want to make you a strategist. I want you to be able to crush your enemies before they even become a threat. It will take time, it will take patience, and it will take hardship,” Peter stated gently into Michael’s ear. “Will you do that for me?” Peter crooned. “Suffer a little now, for the strength it will give you later?”  
  
“I feel like…” Michael searched frantically for the words the way he always did when coming down from being moon high. “Like everything you say to me is an instruction, and that you keep everything to yourself and don’t share and you get an office but I don’t have a bed and you get Stiles and I don’t and you don’t give me a choice and I have all this place but no idea what to do with it and I wish…” Michael inhaled. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Alpha.”  
  
“I understand Michael, I hear you. I’m listening. I’ll try harder. I gave myself an office because we all need it. Money. Food. Redecorating. The work I do there is for you too. I’ll teach you when you’re older. How does that sound? Sound fair?”  
  
Michael nodded into Peter’s chest. Breathing evening out, feeling a little chagrined at curling up on Peter like a baby. Peter pressed a light kiss to Michael’s temple. “I’m proud of you,” he said drawing them both to their feet easily.  
  
Michael shook his head. Peter frowned. “What is it?”  
  
“You keep saying that, and I just don’t think I believe you,” Michael muttered.  
  
“You are remarkable, Michael. I’ll keep saying it until you do believe it,” Peter said gently. “And I’ll never lie about how we stand with each other. Is that fair?”  
  
Michael shrugged. “Sure. Whatever,” he groused.  
  
“So much wolf and power,” he said running a finger down Michael’s face. Michael blushed slightly. “You’ll be running the perimeter twice a day from now on,” Peter instructed before turning toward the house. Michael groaned. “Come along now, unless you want a piggy back ride?”  
  
Michael blushed again, furiously this time. “I can manage,” he muttered. Peter raised an eyebrow and gave him a knowing smirk.  
  
“I never said you couldn’t.”  
  
-  
  
“Hey,” Stiles greeted softly from the bed as Peter entered. “How’s Mikey?” he asked as Peter undressed.  
  
“He’s waiting to be pushed out, waiting to be unwanted. Scared to put roots down only to have me rip them out,” Peter sighed softly.  
  
Stiles frowned. “I don’t understand.”  
  
“He’s not used to staying in one place, one home. He reads into some things, he wants everything and nothing all at once,” Peter said slipping under the covers. “He’ll start to believe me in time. For now all I can do is be there.”  
  
Stiles pressed closer to Peter. “I worry about him. He gets into weird moods.”  
  
Peter snorted. “Yes. But he’ll be fine. I think he’s the sort to always land on his feet.”  
  
“Isn’t that a cat thing? Do werewolves even like cats?”  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder about you,” Peter muttered before snagging Stiles and bringing him close.  
  
“Well that makes two of us,” Stiles chuckled leaning in and kissing Peter slowly. Stiles flashed a grin. “Nighty night,” he jested, turning over. Peter grumbled and reached out for him, pulling him back. Stiles laughed. “God, you’re so predictable,” he sniggered.  
  
“What a travesty,” Peter joked before kissing him again.  


%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%


	8. Chapter 8

“To be or not to be, that is the question…” Stiles mumbled as he stared at the rain, making the outside miserable and muddy. He was sitting on the floor in front of the patio doors or French doors or whatever, watching the water droplets fall down the windowpanes. Summer was well and truly over he thought glumly.

 

"Hey," Michael said trundling over and standing above Stiles. “Thought I was the thespian in the house?”

 

"Hey," Stiles replied looking up, then flailing as drops of water hits him. "Blergh. Go dry."

 

"Sorry," Michael replied with a smirk, walking away. "My bad."

 

"There's a reason we put a shower room next to the back door!"

 

Well and truly over.

 

-

 

Bits of furniture were starting to appear. A coffee table for Peter's wine glass in front of the new sofa. A rug by the fireplace. Dining room suite for ten people. Empty china cabinets. New light fixtures - _chandeliers_.

 

It was driving Michael bonkers. Stiles had just decided to go with the flow.

 

"Where's the catalogue?" Stiles asked sleepily one night curled next to Peter on the sofa as Michael ran the perimeter.

 

"Catalogue?" Peter asked confused.

 

"The catalogue where you get the stuff," Stiles answered. "I wanna pick things."

 

"Oh do you now," Peter drawled amused. "And what would you like? A hammock?"

 

"Yeah, and tiki torches - but they'd be outside. Naw I want bean bags to sit on and beaded curtains instead of doors. And leather recliners like on Friends. And a fifty inch tv screen - or a projector - or a movie room! Black out shutters, popcorn and candy floss machine, surround sound - with a gaming console as well for epic halo," Stiles rattled out. Peter snorted.

 

"I'll consider it."

 

"Just give me a catalogue, I'll circle what I want."

 

"You're very bossy to your alpha," Peter muttered.

 

"Whelp," Stiles retorted, swinging a hand up and around, dislodging Peter from his comfortable position.

 

"Such a brat," Peter teased, snuggling back down with him.

 

When Stiles came downstairs the next morning a noticeboard appeared in the kitchen with a stack of catalogues beside it, which Michael and Peter were already ripping pictures out of and sticking to the board.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Designers call it a mood board,” Peter answered, sliding over to Stiles and giving him a kiss. “Grab some breakfast and come play.”

 

Stiles chuffed but made some toast and sat on the floor in front of the mammoth white board.

 

“We have markers, and blue-tac, and pictures,” Michael said settling next to him. “This corner is mine,” Mikey said pointing to the top left. Stiles peered up at it then laughed. The whole corner was covered in beds. Beds of all shapes and sizes.

 

“Subtle,” Stiles smirked. “Pass me a book.”

 

Peter dropped a pile of books into Stiles’ lap and curled up behind him, bringing out paint samples, fabric swatches, drawing floor plans, choosing tiles, picking furniture.

 

“The next thing we do is refit the kitchen,” Peter said. “Might take a while to build up the funds, but that just gives us time to pick what we want.”

 

“What exactly is your job again?” Michael asked raising an eyebrow as he passed an omelette over for lunch to the two of them. Stiles grabbed his and put all his attention on the food, tense at the idea Peter might snap back.

 

“Being Alpha,” Peter replied smoothly. Michael rolled his eyes and slumped onto the floor beside them, digging into his own omelette. Stiles let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

 

“I want an electric hob along with an added gas ring,” Michael stated. “For when I wanna use a wok.”

 

“Sounds reasonable,” Peter agreed.

 

“Two ovens.”

 

Stiles choked a little. “What?”

 

“The few times we use it you’ll be thankful for it,” Michael said. “My mother loved having two ovens. Thanksgiving… Christmas… dinner parties…”

 

Michael fell quiet, picking at his omelette. Stiles wet his lips, uncertain how to comfort him.

 

“We can go over schematics together, see if we can’t create a kitchen they’d have loved.”

 

Michael nodded. “Dishwasher.”

 

Stiles groaned. “Yes, please,” he added emphatically.

 

“I like doing the dishes,” Peter said.

 

“Then you can do them,” Stiles replied. Peter nipped at his ear. Stiles wiggled and giggled.

 

“Fine. I’ll consider the dishwasher.”

 

“Chocolate fountain,” Stiles contributed. Michael wrinkled his nose.

 

“How about a fondue set for chocolate instead. You have to put oil and junk in the fountains and they’re so unhygienic and the chocolate is never high quality cause you need so much and they’re impossible to clean properly so they can grow bacteria from -”

 

“Point taken!” Stiles interrupted. “No chocolate fountain, I’ll stay out of the kitchen decisions.”

 

“Hey now,” Peter reprimanded softly. “You can choose the… the uh…”

 

“Haha very funny,” Stiles sulked, catching Michael sniggering from the corner of his eye. Worth it.

 

-

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles stood in the middle of his lake, jeans rolled up above the knees, in the rain, still. Just still. A novelty after years of motion. Michael stood with his arms crossed by the banking, unamused and fidgeting.

 

“Do we have to stand around in the rain?” Michael moaned. Stiles smiled up to the rain clouds, eyes shut to the droplets, fat and heavy dripping down his face and through his hair like cold fingers.

 

“You can go inside, if you’d like.”

 

Michael shifted a little, huffing. “Bored.”

 

“Hm… Peter?”

 

“Study.”

 

“Ah.”

 

They stood in silence for a little while longer.

 

“I find it odd,” Stiles started. “My nose goes cold and a little bit runny for just a moment, and then…” Stiles spread his fingers out. “Gone. Then it begins again a little bit later.”

 

“You know catching a cold in the rain is an old wives’ tale?” Michael retorted, digging the toes of his shoes into the ground.

 

“Not exactly. Besides, I think we both hold a little more value in myths than we did before,” Stiles answered evenly, letting Mikey’s harsh roll off him and past him.

 

Michael made a non-committal grunt, standing around a little longer before sighing.

 

“I’m heading in -”

 

“Can you scent me?” Stiles whispered. Michael froze. He inhaled deeply, twice, before shaking his head.

 

“Well if you’re heading in don’t let me stop you, I’m still fascinated by the way my body temperature regulates.”

 

Michael nodded before turning back to the house and making a muddy trek back up: both boys now thinking about the rain, and how it masks their scent.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles and Michael ran through the trees, sliding and racing over slopes until they reached the ravine.

 

“Here's good,” Michael panted, falling onto his back. “Natural boundary.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles replied succinctly. “Woo,” he huffed before sitting beside Mikey.

 

“This is like,” Michael said in spurts. “The most north you can go. Not good, to go further. Not enough of us to have it.”

 

“Size of the territory goes with the size of the pack?” Stiles asked.

 

“Power of the alpha,” Michael corrected. “Alpha gets stronger as pack grows.”

 

Stiles grinned. “Smarty pants.”

 

Michael wheezed out a snarl but there was no heat behind it. Stiles lay down, getting his breath back.

 

“What do you think happens to an alpha with no pack?” Stiles wondered. Michael frowned.

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Peter once told me that alphas have a drive to create pack,” Stiles continued, pulling up grass absentmindedly. “But he also has the added drive of being insane.”

 

Michael huffed. “I don't think he's insane.”

 

Stiles rolled over to face him. “How come?”

 

“I've met men like him before, insanity is just their excuse to do whatever they feel like. That's not insanity, it's immorality. Different.”

 

Stiles absorbed Michael words. “I think he's insane,” Stiles replied evenly. “The things he's said and done... I just can't equate it with someone in their right mind.”

 

Michael shrugged, fangs sprouting out. Stiles blinked for a few moments then burst out laughing. Michael groaned.

 

“Shut up, it's hard keeping them in.”

 

“I have no clue what your triggers for this stuff even is? I thought it was anger?” Stiles commented through peals of laughter.

 

“It can happen when I'm relaxed or chilling,” Mikey muttered. Stiles snorted.

 

“That’s super unfortunate.”

 

“I barely ever see you wolfed out,” Michael said.

 

Stiles shrugged. “Maybe I’m just better at controlling myself.”

 

“Now look who’s the smarty pants.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “So juvenile.”

 

“You started it.”

 

“Did not.”

 

“Did too and if you say did not you prove me right.”

 

Stiles gave Michael the stink eye. “Whatever.”

 

They lay in silence for a while, letting themselves rest from their run through the forest, watching the sky roll past.

 

“It rained last night,” Michael said softly. Stiles hummed.

 

“I think it’ll rain more in the spring. It’ll be getting warmer then too, no chance of the rain turning into snow,” Stiles replied.

 

“What do you think you’ll do?” Michael whispered.

 

“What do you mean?” Stiles replied to the sky.

 

“When you get home,” Michael said pulling at the grass.

 

“Hug my dad. Cry a lot. Movie marathons with Scott. Video games. Pizza. What about you?”

 

“I…” Michael paused. “I don’t have a home.”

 

“You can come home with me. My dad’ll probably have a heart attack, but he’ll secretly love it,” Stiles answered.

 

Michael was silent for a moment. “Alright.”

 

“He’s a sheriff. He’s the best.”

 

“A cop?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Michael worried his fangs against his lip. A cop. Great.

 

+

 

Peter left Stiles tangled up in the bedsheets, bruises already faded from his skin, and sneaked out of the house. He ran directly to the west, easily finding Michael’s trail and catching up to him. They ran in silence for a distance before Michael slowed to a stop, listening out in the forest like Peter had showed him, eyes alight and feet restless.

 

“Have your feet shifted?” Peter asked curious. Michael shrugged. Peter twitched slightly. “We need to work on your control, it’s not practical to fall into your shift all the time.”

 

“Practical?” Michael snorted.

 

“If someone were to come across you we can’t have your automatic reaction to be flashing those pretty golden eyes.”

 

Michael blushed a little and shook his head. “And were you planning on _letting_ someone ‘come across’ me?”

 

“Don’t tell me you crave the company of the outside world now, Mikey?”

 

Michael hesitated for a split second too long. “No. Which was my point.”

 

“I need to have you prepared for every eventuality Michael,” Peter said approaching Michael until Peter could reach out and put a hand on his neck. “I need you as ready and as capable as me. Do you understand?”

 

Michael sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, Peter, I understand.”

 

“I hate to have to curb your wolf, especially when you love it so,” Peter sighed. “It’s easier here, where we're safe and free. Urban werewolves are constantly on edge, never living with nature like we are.”

 

Michael chuffed a bit, trying to bring in his fangs. “Stiles said you had a house in the woods. Before.”

 

“Yes, me and most of my family. I tried an apartment once or twice. College was a trial. All those kids letting go of their inhibitions... You just want to join in. You never can. There's always a barrier between you and everyone else. Always an element of a lie in every relationship...” Peter shook his head. “It grates on you. Makes you an obvious liar or an obvious recluse.”

 

Michael stared off into the dark for a few moments more. “We should move.”

 

Peter raised an arm. “Lead on.”

 

+

 

“Alright.”

 

Michael stood with his back against the tree as Stiles flitted around in front of him, gathering a large amount of pinecones.

 

“We're going to work on your control.”

 

Peter sat on the ground off to the side with a huge grin on his face. He thought this was hilarious.

 

“So all you have to do is stand still and not shift.”

 

 Jerk.

 

“Begin!”

 

His hand whipped out and caught the pinecone about to hit him in the face, crushing it to smithereens.

 

“Michael! No moving! No crushing! Also your eyes are out! Lets try it again!”

 

This was going to be a long day.

 

+

 

Michael sat with his back against the new white leather sofa, feet pressing against the low coffee table in front of him – which he picked out with the swirly chubby legs, book resting in his lap heavy and secure, Peter's fingers absently running through his hair as he mashed his face into Peter's knee, a fire crackling in the fireplace as wind and rain blew around the house, Stiles' lazy heartbeat somewhere beside Peter on the couch, breaths soft and shallow.

 

“What is your substance, whereof are you made,

That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

Since every one hath, every one, one shade,

And you but one, can every shadow lend.

Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit

Is poorly imitated after you;

On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,

And you in Grecian tires are painted new:

Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,

The one doth shadow of your beauty show,

The other as your bounty doth appear;

And you in every blessed shape we know.

In all external grace you have some part,

But you like none, none you, for constant heart.”

 

Stiles breathing petered out into a deep even breath. Peter hummed and pulled at Michael's hair a little, Michael craned his head up the way.

 

“As ridiculous as Stiles was earlier, his method is sound. It's all about breathing and meditation and keeping your heart rate down. We used to teach our pack a mantra. My younger sister used to use prime numbers, she was a mathematician,” Peter added idly looking off into the distance. “The thing about Shakespeare -”

 

“Iambic pentameter,” Michael rounded off, jumping ahead of Peter's thought. Peter smiled.

 

“Clever boy.”

 

Michael burned with pride, could feel it rushing into his chest.

 

“I only wondered if it would help anchor you. I'm not entirely sure what Stiles' anchor is but he has such tight control it makes me worried he's suppressing.”

 

Michael snorted. “Shocker,” he muttered.

 

“Careful Michael,” Peter said reaching down and tapping a finger on Michael's nose. “I keep a thick blanket of denial and avoidance over this place to us all happy and warm, I'd hate to get cold - wouldn't you?”

 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yes, Peter.”

 

“Bedtime.”

 

“Yes, Peter,” Michael said rolling up to his feet and leaning over to kiss Peter on the cheek. “Goodnight, Peter.”

 

“Goodnight, Michael.”

 

+

 

“Hey.”

 

Michael blinked blearily for a moment as Stiles came into focus. He glanced to the window, the grey of dawn.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Scoot over.”

 

Stiles grabbed at Michael’s blanket and slid underneath, pressing cold toes to his calves.

 

“You’re freezing,” Michael whined moving over to make space on his mattress.

 

“Peter’s out. Was cold when I woke up.”

 

Michael gritted his teeth. “So you’re using me for my body…” Stiles stared quizzically at him. “Heat.” Stiles snorted and thwacked him in the stomach.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles laughed turning onto his side, Michael turned too, facing each other. “We need you to be in control of your shift,” Stiles whispered. Michael reached out and took Stiles’ hand.

 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m holding you back -”

 

“Giving me strength. I might not have been able to… I might not be able to…” Stiles swallowed looking up at Michael. “He’s taken so many parts of me I’m scared I won’t be anything if I leave him. I’m scared I’ll fail and when he gets me I’ll be worse for it.”

 

“We won’t fail.”

 

Stiles curled up into a ball. “I just want. I want my _dad_ , I don’t care how it sounds I want – he doesn’t let me talk about him, speak of him, or anything and I - ” Sties gasped in a sob. “I miss him.”

 

Michael curled his arms around Stiles, unsure of how to deal with the tears. Boys don’t cry.  _'_ _Men don’t cry. And you want to be a man don’t yo – '_

 

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m a mess,” Stiles sniffled wiping his face with his hand. Michael blinked away the memory.

 

“It’s, um, yeah…”

 

“See, this is why I want my dad – he’s so old he’s forgotten what it’s like to be embarrassed,” Stiles poked at Michael's chest.

 

Michael groaned. “Shut up.”

 

“Is there anyone you miss?”

 

Michael’s shifted. “No one alive.”

 

“You’d miss me though, wouldn’t you?” Stiles asked pressing his toes into Michael’s shin.

 

“Ah! No, you popsickle! Never -”

 

“Liar,” Stiles grinned. Michael rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine. I’d miss you,” Michael said. _And Peter_. “You’re all the family I’ve got.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so slow to update, plot bunnies haven't been bouncing as much for this one (but hey I wrote a whole other story and it's complete, points yes?) sorry if there are typos, I'm on me tablet and the keyboard sucks ::(
> 
> Enjoy? (I never think that's the right word for this story...)

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

Feet pounding on ground, blood pounding in ears, heart pounding in chest.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

A cop, a cop, a stupid cop. Stiles wouldn’t be wrong about his dad though, would he?

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

People in charge like that, expose to violence like that, they need to be honourable, or they’ll be corrupted.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

He oughta know, he’s been fostered by a cop family once before, runs into them every so often, some good some bad.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

At least with Peter he knew what was what, where he stood, what was expected – at least he had some power.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

Peter felt like a storm, a rock, terrifying and solid – how could they possibly run away from that, that security, that ferocity?

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

They could be safe here.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

They could die here.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

Peter could turn on them, have them turn on each other, any moment.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

He wouldn’t snap, not the way that Stiles thinks, he would just decide one day he was bored, and start needling at them, start peeling the skin off their faces, drawing blood, breaking bones, every day would be a living hell.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

But that would only happen if he slipped up, if he stopped being perfect, if he became too transparent – the second he lets go of the act he becomes boring and predictable, it’s the edge of other that keeps Peter’s amusement up and keeping Peter happy is key. He wouldn’t slip. He’s too good, too desperate.

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

How long until he lost Stiles though?

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

How long did anyone have with anyone anyway?

 

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

 

-

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles glanced up from where he was sitting in front of the mood board, sandwich lying forgotten in his lap. Michael was standing in the doorway of the utility room by the back door.

 

“Hey, you look sweaty.”

 

“You’re looking super duper yourself. Going for a shower,” he said stripping off his clothes and dumping them into the washing machine. “Any lunch going?”

 

“I’ll make sandwiches.”

 

“Great.”

 

Stiles heard the shower in the utility’s en suite going on before he darted upstairs, knocking on Peter’s study door.

 

“Come in, Stiles.”

 

Stiles pushed open the door.

 

“Hey, I’m making sandwiches, want one?”

 

Peter smiled. “I’ll come down. I’m bored with this anyway,” he said standing and moving round quickly to Stiles, gently grabbing hold of his hips. “Hey you,” he said with a kiss. Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“Food first, oh mighty alpha,” Stiles replied. Peter smirked and pulled Stiles further into the study.

 

“Then you shouldn’t have called me ‘oh mighty alpha’ you know how hot that gets me,” he whispered kissing along Stiles’ neck. “Besides, I’ve been thinking about a combination of you and this desk since yesterday,” he picked Stiles up and sat him on the desk.

 

“So long as you’re quick, I promised Mikey sandwiches too,” he said. “Mr Hale,” he added with a cheeky smile. Peter blinked.

 

“You… are a treasure.”

 

+

 

Michael sat breathing in a clearing not far from the house, trying to do the ‘singling out of noises’ exercise. So far all he had was a headache and fangs.

 

“Michael.”

 

Michael blinked his eyes open. It was dark. Cold. Michael shivered.

 

“Oh. What time is it?”

 

“Dinner’s on the table. How were you doing?” Peter asked evenly.

 

“Badly,” Michael grimaced as he stood, cracking his shoulders as he stood. “Everything’s too noisey, I keep getting distracted.”

 

“Hm…” Peter wrapped a loose arm around Michael as they walked towards the house, absently rubbing to create warmth. “Maybe I should give you something that requires your focus…”

 

“I thought this was for focus?” Michael asked confused, leaning in.

 

“Well, this is more about training your focus, a safe little thing that lets you get used to the idea. Maybe I should have you do something with higher stakes: where your focus isn’t a pleasantry but a necessity.”

 

“Uh, throw me in at the deep end?” Michael asked.

 

“Something like that,” Peter muttered, guiding Michael to the side door. “We can talk later once I’ve had a think.”

 

+

 

“I thought you had invisible little elves that did this sort of work for you,” Michael grumped. Stiles hid his grin.

 

“And just the other day you were complaining you had nothing to do around here,” Peter replied. “We can have a break after this wall is done.”

 

Michael rolled his eyes and went back to scraping the old wallpaper off the wall of an empty room across from Peter’s office.

 

“Oo, I’ve just hit some baby duckies!” Stiles said. “Layer number six.”

 

Michael groaned and hit his head off the wall.

 

“Careful, Mikey, wouldn’t want to have to scrap brain matter off the wall as well,” Stiles sniggered.

 

“We’re more likely to have to patch a hole in the wall,” Peter replied.

 

“Maybe his head would get stuck there forever,” Stiles continued.

 

“Indeed it would be terrible. Michael your teeth are showing,” Peter said lightly, grinning at Stiles.

 

“Guh, you’re all impossible,” Michael exclaimed going back to scraping the wall with new ferocity. Stiles cackled.

 

+

 

Peter frowned as he sat in his study listening to the house. He could hear Michael puttering around downstairs, but Stiles…

 

“Michael, come here for a moment,” Peter called gently – it’s rather undignified to shout when you’re a werewolf. Michael started his ascent to Peter’s study, pushing open the door and leaning on the frame.

 

“You rang?”

 

“I thought you would be too young for Lurch.”

 

“Who?”

 

Peter shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

 

“Never mind. Where’s Stiles?”

 

Michael’s posture became defensive as he glanced out the bay window.

 

“Outside.”

 

“Outside?” Peter also glanced out the window. “It’s raining rather heavily, have you not encouraged him to come inside? Pneumonia would put him in a sick bed for a day or so.”

 

Michael shrugged crossing his arms. “When I went to him earlier he was… um, smelled like a complicated sad. I’m sorry, I don’t know the word for it, told me he wanted to be alone and I oughta leave him alone. So I did.”

 

“Distraught. Grief. Hysterical. Anguish. Tormented. Woe.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m giving you words other than sad,” Peter snapped. “You read Shakespeare for goodness sake.”

 

Michael felt a burn of shame and resentment. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t know the scent not the -”

 

“Where is he exactly?”

 

“Beach.”

 

“Fine. Thank you, Michael.”

 

Michael closed the door with more force than was strictly necessary but Peter let him off with it. He finished up his work then headed outside.

 

Stiles was sitting on the wet sandy beach, feet nearly treading lake water from the incessant rainfall. Stiles was shivering slightly, staring blankly at the water. Peter inhaled. Desperation. Loss. Heartache. He’d tell Michael later.

 

Peter wandered over to Stiles and sat behind him, pressing into his back. Boy was only wearing a shirt, silly thing. Stiles shook his head.

 

“Peter, just leave off me, please,” he rasped. Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist. Stiles shrugged him off and jumped up.

 

“God I said don’t, leave me alone, god can’t you just leave me alone for five minutes,” Stiles blurted out with a slight tremor to his voice. A breakdown then, just like the old days.

 

“You’ve been here all day, I was worried -”

 

Peter reached out a hand to place on Stiles’ arm but Stiles flinched back.

 

“Don’t touch me, you -”

 

Stiles clamped his mouth shut. He screwed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hands. Now the salty tang of tears tinged the air.

 

“Going to finish the sentence Stiles?” Peter asked gently.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m just, I’m tired,” Stiles stuttered.

 

“Then let’s go home shall we?”

 

Peter extended a hand and left it hanging out for Stiles to accept. Stiles looked fretfully at the hand but knew he couldn’t refuse. He placed his hand in Peter’s. Peter led him lightly back up to the house and in through the patio doors, dripping rain all over the wooden floors.

 

Then Stiles noticed where Peter was leading him.

 

Stiles tried to pull back his hand but Peter simply tightened his grip and continued to lead Stiles along. Michael appeared at the end of the corridor, keeping his distance as he watched silently.

 

“Peter please, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t, please -”

 

“Stiles,” Peter said pushing Stiles up against the wall beside the basement entrance. “Try to compose yourself. You did say you wanted to be alone.”

 

“Peter? Peter please -”

 

Peter wrenched opened the door and threw Stiles in, slamming the door and locking it shut. Michael waited until the door was sealed before launching himself toward the door, whining.

 

“Oh, Michael, Mikey, shh,” Peter crooned, wrapping his arms around Michael's waist and pulling him away from the door gently. “I know how this pains you,” Peter said quietly, huddling Michael close as he whined. He kissed Michael’s temple. “But you really should have brought him inside earlier.”

 

-

 

Stiles shivered cold and wet in the dark. The hollow deep dark. His head pounding, ears itchy, nose blocked, breathing raspy. He couldn't say if it'd be hours or minutes when the door swung open and Peter's silhouette seared onto his eyeballs. He blinked and the light was gone.

 

“Peter?” Stiles questioned into the dark. There was no reply, but hands and fingers tugged at his damp clothes, pulling them off. Hot lips pressed onto his. Stiles reached out but there was nothing, Stiles got to his knees.

 

“Peter,” Stiles called, growling as his eyes lit up gold. The glow didn't pierce the darkness.

 

Hands from behind fitted into the curve of his hips and Peter's breath gusted along the nape of his neck. Stiles leaned back and Peter retracted himself before Stiles could find contact.

 

“Peter stop playing games, I said I was sorry, I said -”

 

Stiles sniffed, cutting himself off. Hands took his and brought him to his feet, tugging at his jeans to come off, then his boxers. Stiles shivered and Peter's body pressed against him, a warming brand, like -

 

“Peter are you naked? We are not having sex in the basement where you ripped off my fingernails, okay, just - take me upstairs.”

 

Peter's heat disappeared and Stiles made a subsonic whine, stepping where he thought Peter should be before he stopped himself short.

 

“Peter stop playing - “

 

Stiles yelped as he was slapped hard on the ass, he could almost feel the shape of the hit from the heat his cheek gave off. A hand on his neck tossed him down onto the floor. Stiles was shaking as hands took his hips and pulled him to his hands and knees. Stiles mentally prepared for brutality, but then something wet and flat pushed against his asshole and then it _moved_ like -

 

Stiles shot out of Peter's admittedly light hold and kept moving till he hit the wall, gasping into the rough cast cement.

 

“No, fuck, no Peter I'm not letting you -” Stiles winced. “I don't want you to - I mean... No. Alright? Just, no.”

 

Stiles panted shallowly into the wall, stopped breathing altogether when hands on his hips turned him around. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, which made no sense considering the darkness, and waited.

 

 _Smack_.

 

The blow across his face was hard enough to split skin, blood dribbled fro his lip as tears fell from his eyes. Stiles flinched as Peter's tongue _histongue histongue flatwetmovingtongue_ curled under his jaw and swept up the side of his face, up and onto his forehead.

 

Stiles stood shaking as the door opened wide, light blinding him again, realisation setting in.

 

“Wait, Peter, don't -”

 

The door slammed shut.

 

“Leave me.”

 

-

 

“Alright, try just your forefinger,” Peter said as they both sat on the rug in front of the fireplace.

 

Michael stared at his hand so fiercely he saw spots float around in front of his eyes. He gave up.

 

“Why doesn’t Stiles have to do this? I’ve never seen him do this kind of trick.”

 

“It’s not a trick it’s a test of agility. Tricks are things no common werewolf can do. Like a full alpha transformation.”

 

“Maybe it would be easier if Stiles were here that's all,” Michael grumbled. Peter reached over the gap between them and lifted Michael's chin with a singular claw. Michael locked eyes with Peter.

 

“Do you have an issue you wish to raise Michael?”

 

“I miss Stiles,” Michael tried to say evenly. “It's been more than a day and I...” Michael huffed. “I feel restless.”

 

Peter dropped the claw pinning Michael's head up and evaluated Michael.

 

“As much as I appreciate how close you two have become this... Petulance is not appropriate behaviour from my second. You sound like a four year old who's lost his toy. Perhaps the time apart will do you both some good.”

 

Michael shrugged and ran his fingers through the rug tuffs. Peter sighed, running a thumb over Michael's cheek.

 

“Don't you like hanging out with your alpha?”

 

Michael whined, wolf rearing at the prospect of upsetting his alpha. “Of course I do,” he replied looking up. Peter pulled him over and settled him into his side for a cuddle.

 

“Oh I know it's not the same, but he's barely been away a day. He'll break soon, I promise.”

 

Michael felt the words douse him like cold water. Peter continued on.

 

“Now do you want to keep going with the claw exercise or move on?”

 


	11. Chapter 11

It had been three days since Michael saw Stiles. Two sleepless nights. Three days of running drills and tests with Peter.

 

“When are you letting him out, Peter?” Michael asked over breakfast.

 

“When you are able to perform a Mexican wave with your claws,” Peter replied flippantly. Michael growled and Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you practice, shall I?” he said leaving his half eaten breakfast behind as he went upstairs. Michael snarled and went for a run.

 

+

 

He could bring out all his claws now when he chose, and more importantly, bring them in.

 

+

 

He could keep his nails in when they wanted to come out. He could smell the blood under Peter’s nails when he left the basement, he could see the unnatural glimmer in his eyes.

 

+

 

He could keep one claw out for a few seconds before the others all suddenly spurted out.

 

+

 

Mexican. Wave.

 

+

 

Stiles gave Michael a tight, small, dead-eyed smile as he shuffled up the stairs, gently guided by Peter’s solid presence behind him. Michael felt a tightness in his chest he couldn’t quite explain at the sight of him.

 

+

 

“Hey,” Michael whispered as Stiles crept onto the mattress with him. Stiles said nothing as he lay his head down on Michael’s chest.

 

“Stiles, what -”

 

“No,” Stiles cut him off sharply. “You don’t ask. Not now, not ever.”

 

Stiles curled up tight into a ball at Michael’s side.

 

“We can tell. We can listen,” he said quietly with his eyes closed. “But we don’t ask.”

 

Michael lay silent as Stiles fell into a restless sort of slumber tucked into his side. He gently wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and sighed heavily, closing his own eyes and falling asleep to rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat.

 

+

 

Stiles flinched when Peter touched him now, held still as a statue when kissed, he never ever pulled away anymore - he waited to be let go of or pushed.

 

He still pressed ice cold toes to Michael’s shins at dawn, though. So Michael figured they’d be okay.

 

+

 

It was bright outside as Stiles finished up washing the dishes, sunlight beaming through the clouds and straight through his kitchen window. It was a beautiful view. Nothing for miles.

 

Fingers slid over his wrist and a hand curved round his waist. Stiles froze, taking deep breaths as he willed himself not to move, not to pull away, not to scream.

 

“Hey,” Peter’s voice breathed giving a small kiss down the slope of his neck. Stiles’ heart stuttered. “I’m taking Michael out hunting. Would you like to join?”

 

Stiles slowly stacked the plate onto the draining board and wrung out the sponge, evaluating Peter’s request. Was it a request? Was it a test? Was Peter giving him a real choice, or was he going to snatch it away if he didn’t like the answer?

 

“You and Michael are miles ahead of me,” Stiles said slowly. “I reckon I’d just slow you down.”

 

“Hm,” Peter hummed, absently rubbing a finger over Stiles’ wrist as he nosed into Stiles’ neck. “I’ll kill you a deer. Michael loves venison.”

 

“Poor Bambi,” Stiles muttered. Peter snorted and kissed under Stiles’ jaw then left the house, calling for Michael as he went. Stiles finished up the dishes, stacking them with trembling fingers, before he slowly made his way to the second floor wet-room with the big shower in it. No one used it very often – there was an en suite upstairs for Stiles and Peter, and the toilet across the hall from Michael, and the showers by the utility on the ground floor to stop mud getting tracked through the house. Stiles stripped off and put the water up hot, scalding, and stood under the spray, letting the water drown out his sobs.

 

+

 

Michael broke the deer up into separate parts under the watchful eye of his alpha.

 

“Guh, this is so gory.”

 

“That’s why we have aprons,” Peter replied calmly.

 

“Yeah? And why do we have a creepy butcher setup in the garage before I get a mattress?”

 

Peter’s eyes glinted as he formulated a response. “I get more use out of the butchering.”

 

Peter barely heard the swallow Michael made.

 

“Besides, you’re actually having fun, don’t deny it. You’re good at it too.”

 

Michael blushed only a little as he severed the leg bone: the whole meat, food, cooking cycle harkened close with Michael for whatever reason.

 

“Think we could make sausages?” Michael asked. “Venison sausages sound good right about now.” Peter frowned.

 

“I’m not sure if I know how.”

 

Michael was suddenly elated and he burst out laughed. “So there are things you don’t know how to do? Wow, will wonders never cease,” he sniggered.

 

“Yes Michael,” he said rolling his eyes and patting him on the shoulder, joining in on the laugh. “There are things I don’t know. And some things,” he said suddenly becoming more serious. “I expect you to surpass me in.”

 

Michael blinked away the surprise, regaining composure quickly. Peter smiled, knowing he’d hit the mark.

 

“Now we’ll see what we can do with the hooves?”

 

+

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles sat round the side of the house on a bench that had appeared under the kitchen window.

 

“Might rain.”

 

Stiles rolled his head over to look at Michael and raised an eyebrow. Michael smiled and sat down.

 

“You seem…” Michael shrugged. Stiles let the cold wind blow through him for a moment before answering.

 

“I got over it,” Stiles replied, hoarser than he expected. “Had a good cry.” The bus driver. Kate. Mark. Alec. “Compartmentalised.”

 

Michael shifted closer to Stiles and whined ever so slightly, Stiles nudged him lightly.

 

“Don’t go sprouting any fangs now,” Stiles grinned. Michael chuckled.

 

“I’ve actually got a real good grip on that now,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Peter said he’s really impressed with my progress. The hunt…” Michael’s eyes flashed so quick Stiles wasn’t sure he saw it. “Went good.”

 

Stiles made a face. “Went good?” Michael huffed.

 

“Guh, it’s hard when it comes to wolf stuff,” Michael complained. “It was… freeing, grounding, control, power, rush, wait, happy, high, pride. Translating that kind of emotion and sensory memory into human expression… well it doesn’t always flow naturally. Words are hard.”

 

“And that’s why words are your anchor,” Stiles said softly. Michael sighed.

 

“Probably.”

 

Stiles breathed. “So you’ve done it. You’ve got control of your shift.”

 

The world slowly drifted by as Michael and Stiles sat beside at each other, implications sinking in, until the wind got too cold and the sky too dark. Then they went inside.

 

+

 

Cold toes poked his ankles as he slowly woke up, grinning sleepily over at a grinning Stiles. “What’s got you so chipper?” he mumbled.

 

“Snow.”

 

“What?”

 

“Snow.”

 

Michael blinked.

 

“It’s gotten too cold. But if we can last through the winter and the snow…”

 

“Spring rain,” Michael finished, heart thudding. This was it. This was. This was happening.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles giggled into Michael shoulder, nestling under his arm. “Until then… snow!”

 

+

 

He hadn’t wanted to. The second he stepped into Peter’s study he regretted it. However now Peter had caught the scent of distress – or unrest – he would follow it to its source. After all that – after thinking he was the normal one – that he had been informed, above it all, knew what he was doing –

 

Stiles had been the Sheriff’s kid.

 

“Stiles and I are running away.”

 

Maybe he was more affected by the play acting family routine than he thought.

 

“He wants to go after spring starts. When it begins to rain. So it can help cover our tracks.”

 

Michael however knew the real reason.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

It wasn’t Peter he wanted to keep.

 

It was Stiles.

 

Stiles with his cold toes, rolling eyes, and truthfulness. Stiles with his moles, and shining eyes, and red cheeks in the now. Stiles. Stiles with the iambic pentameter speaking through his heartbeat.

 

Peter stood up slowly, moving like the alpha predator he was round to stand in front of Michael and firmly but gently put his hands on Michael’s shoulders.

 

“Thank you, Michael. I know how hard that must have been. Leave this with me. I’ll handle it.”

 

Michael had never felt so low in his entire life. He felt like he couldn’t sink lower.

 

“It’s good to know I can trust you, Michael. This is a good step forwards for us.”

 

Ah, there it was. Rock bottom.

 

“Don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, Alpha,” Michael responded dutifully.

 

“Chin up,” Peter said physically moving Michael’s jaw. “This won’t be the last time you have to decide where your loyalty lies. It’s a great gift you’ve given me.”

 

Michael felt tears burn behind his eyes. Peter kissed his temple.

 

“I’m proud of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUNDUNDUN
> 
> OMGee I cannot tell you how long that last scene has been sitting at the top of my word doc waiting to be the next scene. Happy happs.
> 
> (gentle reminder that if you see a spelling mistake you comment the bananza outta that and I will fix it for you babs)


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles stood pressed against the giant windows as Peter wandered around getting ready for bed, letting the cold glass press against his skin. He felt the cold more easily now.

 

“Why?”

 

Peter pressed against his back quick as a flash, smoothing his hands across Stiles naval and wrapping his arms around him. He pressed a kiss into his shoulder before humming. “Why what?”

 

“Why do I feel the cold more easily now?”

 

Peter was quiet for a moment, still moving hands over Stiles' waist. “I'm not sure. I suppose your skin is different now, could be heightened sense thing. I haven't heard of it before though.”

 

“Huh,” Stiles commented, pressing a finger againt the window. Single panes. “I'm glad you made us fix the roof.”

 

Peter chuckled a laugh that vibrated through him. “I'm glad you're glad,” he said. “But I could always find more traditional ways of warming you up...” He said leaning into Stiles' ear. “Could have you pressed against the window, on display, so obscene,” Peter licked along Stiles' ear as he dipped his hands lower. Stiles sighed and turned to face Peter, leaning back on the iron wrought frame.

 

“For whom am I on display, Peter?”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “It’s so sexy when you use correct grammar,” he said deadpan, stepping forwards and pressing Stiles into the window. “And you’re on display for me.”

 

+

 

Peter had started to disappear. It made Stiles nervous. An unaccounted for Peter. He would leave and come back hours later, at random times, in random moods, curled up on the sofa carding fingers through hair at the end of the night with a vacant look crossing his face at the end of the night.

 

It made Stiles nervous.

 

“What’s got you so spaced?” Stiles asked lifting a finger and sliding it along Peter’s cheek. Peter turned his face and absentmindedly caught the finger between his teeth.

 

“Thinking,” he answered. Stiles huffed, shifting his legs and throwing them over Peter’s lap.

 

“Thinking what?” Stiles asked, letting Peter take his finger into his mouth and suck on it.

 

“Planning.”

 

“Planning what?” Stiles asked, yawning.

 

Red eyes flashed at Stiles. Stiles froze, words catching up to himself. Teeth grazed against his skin, fangs.

 

“Peter, I didn’t -”

 

“Didn’t…?” Peter raised an eyebrow, shifting his hips round until he was kneeling up between Stiles’ legs. Stiles pressed back against the sofa cushions.  “Didn’t what, Stiles?” he asked softly, teeth breaking the skin on his finger.

 

“Didn't mean to make you angry.”

 

“I'm not angry,” Peter stated pulling Stiles' trousers down.

 

“Peter, Peter, can we go upstairs to - “

 

“I'm happy here,” Peter cut him off, unbuckling his own belt.

 

“But Mikey - “

 

Peter flipped Stiles over and smacked him hard on the ass. Stiles yelped, closing his eyes tight.

 

“Mikey can hear us no matter where we are Stiles, Mikey is perfectly aware of what we do,” Peter hissed as he continued to smack Stiles. “So stop trying to protect him, he's stronger than you.”

 

Tears streamed down Stiles' face, sticking his cheek to the sofa as he whined. Peter hit him again.

 

“Hands and knees sweetheart, wouldn't want to accidentally snap your pretty little neck.”

 

+

 

The house was quiet. No heartbeats. Stiles blinked and lay still in the strangeness of it. The bed beside him long since gone cold. He got up slowly, turned the heat on the shower up full, watched as the boiling water scalded his skin and he regrew the damanged area.

 

Could he consciously control his healing? Or was it automatic, like hair growing?

 

A noise from underneath the thunderous spray of water caught his attention. Door slamming. Huffing. Michael. Stiles stopped the shower. Listened as Michael got in to one of his own. He dried off and dressed, headed downstairs. Michael's hair was still dripping as he flitted around the kitchen. Michael turned to him with a grin, mouth open.

 

“Where's Peter?” Stiles asked, before Michael could speak. Michael breath changed for a moment but then he shrugged, grin gone as he spun back around to wrestle with the frying pan.

 

“No clue. Lunch?”

 

Stiles pressed a thumb to his forearm which had been boiled purple only minutes ago.

 

“Sure. Lunch.”

 

+

 

Stiles shrieked as the snow was shoved down his back and spun to meet his attacker.

 

“You brat! Where are you!?!” Stiles yelled. Mikey snorted somewhere on his right and Stiles sprinted at the noise, managing to catch Mikey round the middle and tackle him into a snowbank.

 

“Surrender!”

 

“Never!” Michael laughed, grabbing some snow and flinging it up at Stiles face. Stiles reared back and Michael spun them over in the snow.

 

“Surrender!” Michael demanded, Stiles rolled his eyes.

 

“You could come up with something a little more -”

 

Michael shoved snow down Stiles collar and he yelped.

 

“I surrender!”

 

“Next time you'll know snow is my element,” Mikey said with a huge grin spread across his face. “ _Oh Mikey let's have a snowball fight. No, Mikey, just a friendly, I won't cheat_ ,” he mocked.

 

“I do not sound like that,” Stiles whined. Michael burst into laughter. “Shut up, stupid artic wolf.

 

“Make me,” Michael breathed, leaning down close. Stiles breath caught in his throat, watching Mikey's eyelashes flutter as his eyes dropped instinctively to Stiles lips. Stiles tongue darted out nervously. Michael stared into Stiles eyes, trying to read him. Stiles swallowed. Michael leaned in. The wind shifted. Both betas froze as they caught the scent of their alpha.

 

“Don't let me interrupt,” Peter said calmly. Michael shifted ready to roll off Stiles.

 

“I said **don't**.”

 

Michael completely froze, muscles locking into place as his body responded to his alpha's voice. Peter walked slowly over to where the boys were tangled up, his boots crunching the snow as he approached.

 

“What were you going to do?” Peter asked crouching down. “Kiss him?”

 

Michael closed his eyes.  “Alpha please -”

 

“Seems to me like you were.”

 

Michael muscles were strained from being pulled so taught in mid motion, he pleaded. “Please.”

 

Peter lifted a hand and ran it gently though Michael's hair.

 

“ **Kiss him.** ”

 

Michael's body landed solidly on Stiles as he lowered himself down to kiss him. Stiles pushed at him lightly but couldn't find any give in the bigger boy. Stiles eyes flew to Peter, his eyes were red and malicious. Stiles closed his eyes electing to ignore the entire situation. Michael's kissing was sloppy. It was probably his first. Stiles grieved for its loss.

 

“When you're finished there's soup at home. Get it while it's hot.”

 

Peter walked back off into the forest, leaving the two panting teenagers behind him. When he was out of earshot Stiles gently pushed Michael off of him so they were lying side by side in the snow.

 

“I didn't expect that reaction,” Michael said lightly.

 

“He controls everything in our lives. Why not this?”

 

Michael sighed and rolled over onto his side.

 

“I didn't want him to take that from us.”

 

“Take what?” Stiles asked.

 

“Our first kiss.”

 

Stiles' body tensed up. “Was it your first kiss ever?”

 

“No.”

 

The tension left Stiles body, relieved.

 

“No my first kiss was with a man four times my age and ended with a bruised rib and a hospital bed.”

 

Stiles felt his heart swell. “Michael...”

 

Michael's fingers swept across Stiles cheek. “Hey,” Michael said softly. “I much prefer you.”

 

Michael leaned in close again and pressed his lips to Stiles' once more, going slower and with more finesse than before. Stiles kissed back.

 

“We can't do this again,” Stiles whispered as they broke apart.

 

“What?” Michael frowned.

 

“I can't take this from you.”

 

“Take what?”

 

“Your choice.”

 

“I don't understand.”

 

Stiles sighed. “You ever hear of Stockholm syndrome?”

 

“You get attached to your captors,” Michael responded. “That's not what this is.”

 

“I'm literally your only option. That's not choosing, that's…” Stiles sighed, struggling for the right word.

 

“Coercion?” Michael supplied bitterly. Stiles bit his lip, nodding. Michael grit his teeth and looked away. “I’m not a child. I can tell when something is my choice. I’m not you. Our experiences are different. You didn’t have a choice with Peter. I’m not as susceptible as you.”

 

Stiles pressed his head back deeper into the snow, letting Michael’s words drift around in his head.

 

“I don't want to take that risk. I don't want to hurt you like that.”

 

Michael took a deep breath in and then pushed himself off the ground, walking the way Peter had before stopping and turning back.

 

“You're a moron and I'm angry with you,” Michael said. “Now come get some soup.”

 

Stiles stared at the sky until Michael had gone out of earshot. He was doing the right thing by Michael, wasn't he? Putting aside the fact that Stiles wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the younger boy, Michael could never properly be attached to him without a whole set of other issues coming along too. On both sides.

 

Time for soup.

 

***

 

Peter moved slick and silent into Michael’s room, seating himself on the mattress so smoothly that Michael didn’t even wake. Peter sat for a few moments staring at the boy’s face, so soft and innocent looking when he was asleep. Of course Michael managed to look innocent when he was awake too even though Peter knew how tainted the teen was.

 

Shipped from one foster home to another, Michael was on the streets when Peter had found him. He had run away from another foster home where the man of the house was rather unsavoury. Peter remembered how warm his blood felt trickling down his chin after he had ripped out the man’s throat. With his teeth.

 

Michael woke.

 

He curled up on his side and tilted his head sideways on the pillow to look up at him. “You going to put me in the basement?”

 

Peter smiled gently down at him. “Did you do something wrong?”

 

Michael stared up at the ceiling. “Touched what’s yours,” he mumbled.

 

“I believe I remember telling you to do that.”

 

Michael gave a shrug and eyed Peter suspiciously. He was a smart kid, knew how to slip into a family unit, how to gain the trust of those around him, smooth over any ruffled feathers, avoid conflict. He could play at being the perfect little beta for as long as Peter wanted.

 

Peter wanted him to play until he knew no other way to be.

 

“Tell me about your feelings towards Stiles,” Peter commanded. Michael gave him a sort of desperate look before shifting around on his bed to sit up and face him.

 

“Why does it matter?” he asked quietly, wrapping his arms around his legs. Evasion rather than confrontation. Peter placed his hand on Michael’s leg, grounding him, securing him.

 

“How am I supposed to help you without knowing what’s ailing you?”

 

Michael absently rammed his chin against his knee a few times before leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms against his chest.

 

“I…” he stammered slightly. “I think I totally love him,” he mourned.

 

Peter hummed. “That’s quite a strong statement to make. Love is a big commitment.”

 

Michael picked at the hem of his shirt. “I know,” he said reluctantly. “He’s the first person who’s…” Michael’s face screwed up into a scowl. His eyes darted up to Peter’s. Peter raised an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes. “He actually cares. About me. There’s no, like… agenda? For him. He just cares,” Michael set his jaw. “That’s…” Michael’s head fell back against the wall. “That’s a big deal for me,” he admitted into the dark. Peter ran his hand up and down Michael’s leg. Michael unconsciously let the tension ease out of him, legs sprawling open into a comfortable sitting position as he ran a hand over his chin.

 

“What happens now?” Michael asked, braver than he felt. Peter gave a wry grin.

 

“I’m sure Stiles has a big enough heart for both of us,” he casually mentioned. “It’s a shame he’s not going to consider you as anything more than a child.”

 

Peter could feel the heat coming off of blushing Michael’s face. He clamped his mouth shut tight and looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. Peter felt a small sense of satisfaction for the barb.

 

“If you are genuinely serious…” Peter left it hanging. Michael turned back to look at him. “It would be a minor form of manipulation.” Michael hesitated but soon nodded. “Stiles is under the impression he can keep you pure and innocent – a child. You simply need to show him that you’re already past corrupting,” Peter shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“He thinks…” Michael licked his lips slowly, Peter tracked the movement. “That I can’t… choose him. Not properly, anyway,” Michael muttered bitterly.

 

“That you can’t consent?” Peter questioned, that would be an interesting development if so, could spell all sorts of trouble. Michael shook his head. Peter was silently relieved.

 

“More like he can’t trust my consent. Because…” Michael sighed and thumped his head against the wall.

 

“Because I kidnapped you and brutalised you?” Peter asked dryly. Michael nodded. “You’re different from Stiles.”

 

“I said that,” Michael whined, twisting about on the blankets, indignant. “He doesn’t understand that.”

 

“Hmm, yes. Stiles is more…” Peter searched for the words. “What’s that’s passage from Romeo and Juliet. About the bird.”

 

“'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone.

And yet no further than a wanton’s bird,

That lets it hop a little from his hand

Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,

And with a silken thread plucks it back again,

So loving-jealous of his liberty.”

 

Michael recited it perfectly. Peter smiled broadly. “You have a true gift for the bard. You speak it like it flows from you for the first time.” Michael blushed a deep scarlet, and tried to hide his shy grin. Peter’s hand reached out and pulled his chin up gently. “I wouldn’t have you hide those smiles. It’s one of those differences,” Peter said reverently. “His feelings are a beacon for the world to see. You guard yours with all you can.”

 

“All the world’s a stage,” Michael quoted. Peter ran a thumb across Michael’s bottom lip.

 

“And all the men and women merely players,” Peter continued, slithering closer. He heard the uptick in Michael’s heart, though his breathing remained steady. “Are you willing to play your part, Michael?”

 

Michael’s eyes locked onto Peter’s lusting gaze. Peter looked down at Michael’s lips before leaning forward that last inch when Michael jutted his chin up. Peter’s eyes flashed red as he looked back up.

 

“What do I get out of this?” Michael’s voice came out breathy. Peter smirked.

 

“Stiles won’t care much about spoiling damaged goods now, will he?” Peter snarked, before darting in to lay claim on Michael’s lips. Michael responded about as much as Peter expected him too, the youth already too jaded by other predator’s advances on him. Peter turned his head out of the kiss and ran his nose up Michael’s cheekbone. “I’ll let you think about it, shall I?” Peter teased. “Let you see how far you get with Stiles with my complicity, hmm?”

 

He laid a last kiss on Michael’s cheek, leaning back and stroking his hair. Michael’s eyes were curiously blank. Peter obviously hit a nerve somewhere in there. He left the boy pressed up against the wall of his desolate bedroom to ponder his words. He was a smart lad. He’d be on his knees for Peter soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry? I dunno lads, my buzz is running dry for this story. I do have it all planned out and I shan't abandon it but writing it is a bit of a chore atm... Hopefully that'll change? Either way, lots of love to you all!


	13. Chapter 13

Snow swirled gently down in a spiral. Stiles sat in front of the french doors staring out into the purple skied forest, watching as the snowflakes softly hit the window and slid down, sipping on his hot chocolate. Footsteps headed toward him.

 

“Hey,” Stiles said. Michael sat next to him and draped a blanket over both their knees.

 

“Hey,” Mikey replied quietly.

 

“Still angry with me?” Stiles asked. Michael stared out at the snow. “I'm sorry.”

 

“It just doesn't make sense is all. You don't want to hurt me yet here you are hurting me,” Michael said candidly. “Seems fairly redundant.”

 

“Peter would - “

 

“Peter already gave me his blessing. He... Made some interesting points.”

 

“Peter doesn't care about whether or not we get hurt by this,” Stiles scoffed. Michael shrugged.

 

“I think he cares a great deal. I think he has to. Anything else may be problematic.”

 

“I'm not having this argument with you, Mikey. I can't. I can't do this to you. Can't make this worse.”

 

Michael grit his teeth, still staring out into the snow. “I doubt my feeling will change.”

 

“I doubt mine will either,” Stiles replied knocking their shoulders together. “But we're still okay, right? Still friends? We're in this together, right?”

 

Michael glanced over at Stiles. “Sure. Course we are,” he said nudging shoulders back. Stiles heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Good,” he said with a grin, and they sat and watched the snowstorm grow.

 

+

 

Stiles munched on toast and stared at the mood board, waiting for Peter and Michael to show up after their morning run. He picked up a catalogue and flipped through it casually, slowly coming to the electronics section.

 

TV

 

Peter reacted badly to it last time, but maybe with some context and persuasion… Well, the tv could go there and the xbox could connect to it, then a dvd player, and some bookshelves to put the dvds – ooo beanbags!

 

Stiles began ripping out the pictures and forming a home cinema. Black out curtains, surround sound, flatscreen, popcorn machine, recliners, game controllers –

 

“You’ve been busy.”

 

Stiles blinked as Peter landed a kiss behind his ear. “Hey,” he greeted.

 

“Hey yourself. What you doing?” Peter asked slinking arms around Stiles waist and facing the board.

 

“Cinema. Game room. Thing,” Stiles almost stuttered. “We could watch Batman together? Fighting and explosions and I’m sure there’s a plot as well in there?”

 

“Hmm,” Peter said frowning at the pictures on the board.

 

“It’d be nice and dark, like a real cinema,” Stiles added, turning around in Peter’s embrace and winding his arms around Peter’s neck. “You could take me on dates. Popcorn and…” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Everything.”

 

Peter huffed, licking his lips and staring Stiles down. “You’re sneaky.”

 

“You love it.”

 

Peter smiled. “Yeah, I do,” his eyes glanced from Stiles’ face back to the board. “I’ll look at the budget. Think about it a bit. Kitchen comes first.”

 

“And my bed,” Michael said, tripping out of the utility room, hair dripping from the shower he must have just had. “What are we talking about?”

 

“Home cinema,” Stiles replied. Michael paused.

 

“Well… I suppose I can wait a little while longer? If it’s for a good cause and all.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes and walked away. “Children,” he muttered. “I’m living with complete children.”

 

Stiles smiled at Mikey. “I think that went well.”

 

+

 

Peter disappeared for the rest of the day. He came home at dinnertime quiet but with new catalogues filled with shiny new amps, speakers, flatscreens, and gaming consoles. Stiles counted it as a win.

 

+

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles head snapped up from the catalogue he was flipping through Mikey walked into the room.

 

“Oh.”

 

Mikey bit back the hurt. “Great to see you too,” he muttered.

 

“Sorry. Just wanted to ask Peter what some of these words meant.”

 

“What words?” Michael asked sitting down next to him, pressing his back against the kitchen cupboards and facing the mood board.

 

“Jargon for the amps and stuff. Usually I’d just google what it meant but…”

 

Michael nodded. “Yeah. Guess I’m not much help either.”

 

Stiles fidgeted with the corner of the magazine.

 

“We just didn’t get the chance to learn it is all,” Stiles said quietly. “I used to love it. Firing up a computer and finding things out and now… well I’m not going to get to college now, am I?”

 

Michael didn’t know how to answer, so he wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and sat on the kitchen floor with him.

 

+

 

Peter flopped into bed beside Stiles, settling underneath the sheets. Stiles twisted around to face him.

 

“Hey,” he whispered. Peter grunted. “Good run?”

 

“Yes. Run. Now sleep,” he said, eyes closed. Stiles frowned.

 

“Sleep?”

 

“Something wrong with sleep?”

 

“No,” Stiles said quickly.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

Stiles licked his lips, a strange feeling of being put out washing over him.

 

“You just usually want… but then again you are getting old.”

 

Peter huffed. “Is my teenaged paramour feeling under used?”

 

“No,” Stiles answered, frowning.

 

“Great. Now for sleep.”

 

Peter reached forwards and pulled Stiles in close. Stiles settled next to Peter’s familiar presence.


	14. Chapter 14

“Good, that’s good Michael, just like that.”

Michael tried to tune out Peter’s crooning praise and concentrate on keeping his fangs under control with his shivering. God knows what Peter would do if he bit off his dick because he was cold.

“Michael, come on now you need to relax.”

Michael glared at him. Peter sighed and pushed Michael off.

“I have to do everything myself around here,” Peter muttered. “Down,” Peter said pushing his shoulders. Michael sprawled backwards onto the snow. “Lie down, Michael,” Peter commanded getting onto his knees and pulling at Michael’s jean zipper.

“Peter, this isn’t -”

“This goes both ways, Michael. I happen to like seeing young boys panting and writhing underneath me,” Peter interrupted with a wicked grin. Michael swallowed, trying to keep old memories at bay, and nodded his head before leaning back on his elbows.

“Fine. But from now on, we’re staying inside where it’s warm.”

“Fine.”

***

“Hey,” Stiles said gently as Michael woke up and turned to face him. He grunted.

“Hey.”

Stiles lay next to Michael for a few moments, listening to the creaking of the house, eaves groaning under the weight of the snow, wood turning brittle in the cold, pipes freezing up and dinging at a high pitch as water made its way through.

“I’ve been thinking,” Stiles said softly.

“Dangerous pastime,” Michael murmured, his eyes closed against the dawning sun that as just breaking through his window.

“About spring.”

Michael’s breathing got a bit shallow, Stiles glanced over at him, biting his lip in anxiety.

“Yeah.”

“We should go the opposite direction from the way we came.”

“Why?” Michael asked opening his eyes and turning onto his side to face Stiles properly.

“There’s gotta be a reason we ran that way, why the north has a closer border than the others - ”

“It’s a natural boundary, he can’t pick where cliffs -”

“People, Mikey. People could be -”

“Sh!”

Stiles held his breath. Suddenly he could hear it too. The snap crunching of feet. Michael breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s just Peter,” he said calmly, staring intently at Stiles. Stiles nodded, understanding, changing the subject.

“What did you think…”

“I dunno. Noises. Still distract me.”

“I thought you’d gotten a handle on it.”

Michael shrugged. “It’s not like I woke up one day and I could do everything. Some days are easier than other. Some things are easier. I guess my hearing’s just sensitive. Don’t you have that? Some senses are stronger than others?”

Stiles shrugged. “Never really noticed. Except…” Stiles licked his lips. “The cold. I feel the cold more now than I ever did before.”

“Weird. Still blows my mind. That I. That we’re like this. That we’re…”

“Werewolves?”

Michael grinned. “Yeah.”

Stiles smiled back. “Blows my mind too.”

Michael’s eyes skimmed down to Stiles’ lips and his scent changed, just a little, just enough.

“I’m uh, I’m gonna go for a shower,” Stiles said pushing the blankets off, Michael moved quickly, putting hands on Stiles’ hips and leaning over him, ducking his head and kissing Stiles. Stiles lay back for a moment before turning his head away. Michael dropped his head onto Stiles’ shoulder.

“I can’t Mikey.”

“Please, can’t you just -”

“No,” Stiles said softly but firmly. He eased out of Mikey’s bed. “See you later.”

+

“Yeah, well he’s still not budging,” Michael gasped as Peter’s fingers tweaked his nipples.

“What do you want to do?” Peter asked unbuckling their trousers, gently nipping at Michael’s skin. Michael’s chest heaved.

“Don’t know. He’s still talking about running. Making plans and I can’t lie to him, I can’t, and he’ll notice -”

Michael gasped as Peter’s hands moved into his pants.

“Maybe we should table this discussion for later? Hmm?” Peter asked smirking.

“Yes, Alpha,” Michael said squeezing his glowing eyes shut.

+

“Naw man, it’s the super hearing.”

Stiles shook his head as he handed Michael another dish to dry. “You just think it’s the best bit, but it’s not. It’s the healing.”

“Yeah but the healing is useless by itself, unless you were like, wolverine. Did some cage fighting or something. With hearing you can like, spy on people, investigate stuff, you know,” Michael defended as he stacked the plates. “Far more useful.”

“But it’s also a weakness. Sirens and whatnot. Hearing things you don’t wanna hear, healing is all good,” Stiles stated, beginning to wash a pot.

“Until you freak someone out with it. Then the government kidnaps you!” Michael exclaimed. Stiles snorted.

“Unlikely man, you’re more likely to become internet famous.”

“Which would also be bad!”

+

Peter had Stiles sprawled out along his chest, limp like a rag doll and quietly shaking. Skin slowly stiching together over shallow cuts along Stiles’ arm. Peter heard Michael wander in from his run around the border. Peter tracked him from the shower, then he got some juice and headed through into the lounge.

Peter hid a grin as Michael took in the sight of them, going from loose and easy to cautious and alert.

“Fetch me a glass of red, won’t you Michael.”

Michael turned and went back to the kitchen, doing as Peter asked and bringing through a glass of wine.

“Thank you, Michael,” Peter said taking the glass. “Why don’t you sit,” he said.

Michael slowly turned and sat himself down on the other couch, sitting up tense and alert.

“Would you like a sip of wine, sweetie?” Peter murmured, fingers trailing through Stiles’ hair, tiny little scratches appearing and healing in seconds from claw tips. The smallest of cuts still turned Stiles wild, turning him back into a scared little human again, Peter thought as he broke the skin at the nape of Stiles’ neck.

“No thank you,” Stiles strained out breathy. Peter chuckled, moving his hand down to Stiles’ ass and easily pushing him up until Stiles’ nose rested on his neck instead of his chest.

“So polite,” Peter praised, cooing, angling his head for a kiss, gentle, then greedy, then open and sloppy. Michael ground his teeth and Peter’s eyes flickered over to him, red and assessing. He broke off the kiss and Stiles whined, panting into his mouth. “Why don’t you head upstairs and get naked for me, hm?” he instructed, licking his lips. Stiles slid off of Peter and fled the room. Peter took a mouthful of wine with his eyes on Michael. Michael stood.

“Goodnight, Peter,” he said turning away.

“Don’t I get my good night kiss?”

Michael paused before turning around making his way back over to a smug looking Peter and bending down to kiss Peter’s cheek.

“Jealously doesn’t suit you darling,” Peter murmured. Michael’s scent flared. He crouched down in front of Peter, leaning forwards to kiss him on the mouth, getting in close before shooting back. Peter chased his lips for an instant before his eyes snapped to Michael’s and narrowed.

“I could have you anytime,” Michael whispered boldly.

Peter smirked wide and happy. “Not what I meant, but it’s fun to see where your mind takes you.”

+

Stiles tucked his nose into his fluffy scarf and shook his head, letting the snow that had fallen there fly off.

“Gah,” Michael squeaked flinging his hands up to protect his face. “Just because we’re wolves doesn’t mean we have to shake our fur out onto others, Cujo.”

Stiles stuck his tongue out and went back to the task at hand. Snowmen.

“We’ll need arms soon,” Mikey said from his own snowman.

“Think Peter’s magic elves can get us some top hats?”

Michael grinned. “Don’t see why not. I think we even have carrots back at the house.”

Stiles giggled. “That’s hilarious, you get the carrots I’m gonna look for epic arms,” he said standing up.

Stiles reckoned it would take Mikey twenty minutes to get to the house, find carrots, and trek back in the snow given where they were. He found a felled tree and tore off the best branches with his hands, it nearly took his a half hour. He went back to the site of the snowmen. No Mikey. Was Mikey getting scarves and hats? Stiles hoped so, in fact, maybe he should just guarantee that, he thought, turning to the trail Mikey had left in the snow back to the house. He made quick time and slid in through the door to the kitchen. To find Peter zipping up his pants and Mikey sitting on the floor.

His brain stalled, short circuited, stopped. He must have made a noise because Peter’s eyes snapped suddenly to his. Michael sprang up from the ground. Stiles was already out the door, into the white, heading blindly away from the house where Peter… Peter and Mikey, were they, was he –

“- Stiles!”

Michael grabbed onto Stiles’ arm and Stiles snarled, swinging round a fist at him. Michael easily ducked but looked hurt.

“Stiles, I -”

“No,” Stiles interrupted tightly. “I’m not angry at you, I’m just, I -” Stiles snarled again. “I just need to fucking process so leave me alone, alright?”

Michael opened his mouth to say something but Peter appeared around him, hands landing on Michael’s hips. “Back inside, Mikey,” he said gently, giving a small kiss to Michael’s cheek. Michael’s eyes flashed gold as he nodded and slowly walked away, leaving Peter and Stiles by themselves in the trees.

Stiles gritted his teeth. “I want to be alone.”

Peter turned his crazy psycho smile on. “Now when have I ever left you alone?”

Stiles huffed out a pained laugh. “This is… this takes the cake, Peter. This is… a whole new low.”

“Why?”

Stiles’ eyebrows went up in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“Why is this so much worse than anything else I’ve ever done to you?” Peter replied nonchalantly.

Stiles frowned, anger rising in his chest as his fangs dropped. “Because, because it… Because it is!”

“Because it’s Mikey?”

“Yes! You asshole, he’s only fifteen for Christ’s sake -”

Stiles snarled and clawed at a tree, splintering the winter bark into tiny shrapnel bombs, skelves sinking into his palm.

“He’s a kid, he’s just a kid and -” Stiles struggled for the words. “And you took him. And now you’re ra -” Stiles closed his eyes and tried to take in deep breaths, god he felt sick.

“Just like you?”

Stiles felt that traitorous part of his mind rear up, that part that wanted, that was jealous, that was betrayed, because how could he how could he do that to them, he cheated, he cheated on us, on me -

“Yes! Just like me, you fucking psycho, just like me. You took him, and now you’re – what? What? Did you tell him you loved him? Tell him he was special? Tell him you needed him? Felt connected, appreciated him? Did you promise -”

Stiles broke into a sob.

“You told me I was special! You promised! You said Michael wasn't here to replace me and now you - “

Stiles snarled and swiped at another tree, tearing through bark like butter.

“You fucking liar,” Stiles whispered, broken.

Peter approached slowly, eventually reaching Stiles and curling his arms around him. Stiles pulled away, but Peter caught his wrist, claws sinking in. Stiles stilled, pain anchoring him down.

“I'm sorry,” Peter said simply. Stiles stared at him.

“What? Is that it? No declarations of love? No pinning this on Michael or me? No telling me it's not my business when you're fucking our kid!”

Stiles could hear the silence ring after his outburst. Peter stared for a moment, eyebrows creasing.

“Is that what it feels like? Like I fucked our... Kid?” Peter asked. “Or does it feel like I fucked your boyfriend?”

The colour drained from Stiles’ face. “What –”

“Come now, Stiles,” Peter purred. “Long angst filled looks, heads bent together, secret smiles, hushed conversations?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Stiles shook his head adamantly. “I don’t feel that way about him. I’ve never felt that way about him.”

“You’ve never allowed it, is what you mean,” Peter soothed, cupping Stiles’ face. “You hold that boy at such a distance, put such a guard up around your heart… it’s a wonder you even care at all.” Peter kissed Stiles’ forehead. “Just because you’ve put yourself into such a deep denial doesn’t mean you don’t feel it, Stiles. You love that boy.”

“He’s fifteen. And you’re shagging him,” Stiles stated calmly, trying to hold onto the reasons why he was angry. “Never mind me, he was fourteen up until a while ago and now you’ve what? Turned him into a boytoy? A bit on the, on the side?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Michael is more than that. He’s my beta. My right hand.”

“Not me?” Stiles breathed.

“You are my love,” Peter replied simply. Stiles let out a hollow laugh.

“How do you keep your convoluted logic straight in that crazy head of yours?” Stiles spat.

“Stiles, my feelings aren’t conflicted or in opposition. It’s you who is so wound up by this,” Peter said gently, Stiles tried to pull away, but one claw was still embedded in his wrist. “That boy loves you too.”

Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the gut; his breath was knocked out of him. Peter wrapped him up tight in his arms.

“You could have him too.”

That dark thought dropped down into Stiles’ mind and twisted in.

“No,” Stiles spat.

“You’re angry right now, upset. I’m not going to take that answer seriously,” Peter said briskly, letting go of Stiles and running a knuckle over his lips. “I’d like it if this was resolved harmoniously, if we three could be harmonious.” Peter stepped past Stiles and started walking away. “I’d appreciate it deeply, Stiles.”

Peter disappeared, leaving Stiles confused and frustrated and turnaround. Was he angry? Stiles was pretty sure he had been angry, and now he just felt… distressed. Was he not enough for Peter? Was Michael going to be enough for Peter? Did Peter want him to like Michael or was it a trick? Was this whole thing a trick, about proving loyalty? Although Stiles refused to believe Mikey would participate in that sort of scheme. Did Mikey have a choice? Stiles suddenly felt dizzy at the thought. Did he have a choice? Did Mikey say yes? Was that worse than Mikey saying no?

Stiles slumped down to his knees, pressing his forehead into the dirt. What the fuck was he going to do now?

***

Stiles woke up alone in bed. He stared at the empty spot. It seemed so obvious now. He felt so stupid.

Stiles rolled over and focused for Michael’s heartbeat. Not in bed.

Stiles decided to go for a shower, hot and scalding. He felt… he didn’t know.

Dried and dressed he went downstairs and started some toast for breakfast, staring out the window at the slushy snow. There had been rain last night, cold, slushy, rain but definitely not snow. Stiles sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. Could he even begin to run away?

Stiles froze. What was that? He had heard –

There it was again. A whimper.

Stiles slowly followed the noise until he could hear the heartbeat accompanying it. Fast but… light. Michael. Garage.

Stiles opened up the garage door, the smell of animal blood faintly tinged the air and shiny hooks and saws lined the walls. Peter’s very own chop shop which Stiles desperately avoided because hey, he’d seen Peter rip people apart and he didn’t need the reminder. But on top of all the disinfectant and animal blood was –

Human blood.

“Stiles…” it was thin and croaky, along with short shallow breathing, panting more like. Stiles stepped down into the room and found Mikey on the ground. Staked to the ground.

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasped, darting to Michael’s side. Michael lay flat on the ground as steel rods, like the kind sticking out of buildings, held him down. One was above his neck, another was across his upper left arm. One went straight through the right side of his abdomen. Another curved into his knee popping and holding the kneecap out of place.

“Oh my god,” Stiles repeated. The rod seemed to be stopping the bleeding, but Michael still looked pale with his fangs and claws out, his face turned, sweat pouring off him.

“Stiles,” he whimpered again, his hand scrabbling against the floor.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Stiles said grabbing the hand and holding on tight. “God what… what -”

“I’m to stay put,” Michael croaked. “Until he gets back.”

“God, I -”

“Can you get me some water,” Michael rasped.

“Yeah, I – yeah -” Stiles flailed up and rushed into the kitchen, barely noticing how his hands shook as he got the glass and water, then went back for a straw. “Here,” he said placing the straw against Mikey’s lips. He drank greedily. Stiles clung to his hand. “God, Mikey I -”

Stiles gasped as the strangest sensation of both sucking and pushing travelled along his arm then faded. Michael sighed and lay easier.

“Well done,” Michael said quietly. “That feels loads better now.”

“Pain drain,” Stiles said staring at his hand. “We need to get you out of this.”

“I have a strong feeling you can’t. I mean he tied a knot at the top of this,” Michael said, his other hand tentivly touching the bar which went through his abdomen, twisted into a wide knot at the top.

“I’ll try the arm first, okay?” Stiles said ignoring him. He tried to prise his fingers under the metal, but there were grooves in the metal that curved in such a way that it split his skin open and stung. “It’s fine, I’ll get gloves and -”

“Stiles,” Michael wheezed. “Please just… just stay.”

“Okay… Okay,” Stiles said curling next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo. Wrote things. Exciting. Even have the next chapetr in the bare bone so maybe that'll get done. Woooo. Also I hope we all know what a skelf is and also I hope we can all tell me when I spell things wrong. Lots of lurve...


	15. Chapter 15

Peter wasn’t back that night, or the next morning. Things were getting complicated. Food, blood loss, bathroom, warmth, infection – Stiles was pretty sure Michael was running a fever now. The rods would not move, not an inch, and neither could Michael.

 

“You should run,” Michael said. “I bet Peter won’t be back till tomorrow, you could get a head start,” Michael said shivering.

 

“I can’t leave you,” Stiles said. Michael had tears trickling out the corners of his eyes. He gave a bitter smile.

 

“Why do you think he did this?”

 

+

 

“Are we okay?”

 

Stiles slowly breathed, letting the words echo in the dark of the garage, the only light streaming in from the open hall door. He sat up from his spot next to Mikey to look at him.

 

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “We’re okay.”

 

Michael heaved a sigh of relief. “I just… I wanted to consent. I wanted to prove I could make a decision. I didn’t… I didn’t think -” Michael grimaced. “I kinda liked it.”

 

Stiles swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Yeah, he’s um… attentive. When he wants to be.”

 

“I don’t want us to be weird. I -”

 

“You’re right. It’s different. Peter and me, Peter and you. It’s different…” Stiles said into the dark garage. “But we’re still only kids. And he’s still a psycho.”

 

Michael opened his mouth to say something, but eventually closed his lips into a frown.

 

“It rained. Not a lot but it did,” Stiles sighed. “I was thinking about my dad. His second Christmas alone. I hope he’s busy.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t want him to miss me too much.”

 

“Why?”

 

Stiles glanced down at their hands, entwined. “When my mom died, he drank. More than he should have. To cope. Then one day he didn’t. Cope, I mean. Then he needed to get help. He was doing better, much better – he is better… but I don’t… I still don’t want him to miss me that much.”

 

Michael’s grip was tight.

 

“I’ve known a few like that in my time,” Michael said evenly. “If he got help the first time, he’ll do it a second.”

 

+

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“How’re you coping?” Stiles asked quietly. Michael wheezed.

 

“I can like, feel it. Like this cold alien part of me, and my skin trying to… ” Michael took a breath. “I dunno.”

 

“I just… I don’t understand…”

 

“Neither do I. But he’s always got a reason, right? Even if it’s ‘I was bored’ right?”

 

Stiles picked at his nails. “Right.”

 

+

 

Stiles bolted upright.

 

“Mikey?”

 

“Yeah?” he croaked after a moment, blearily opening his eyes.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“Hear what - ”

 

There it was again. A cry. A -

 

“Was that a baby?” Michael whispered.

 

Stiles heard the high pitched _shriek_ again which had him running for the kitchen before he really thought about it. He dashed through the hallway into the kitchen. Stiles felt light headed.

 

Baby.

 

Baby.

 

It had a scrunched up little red face and was about to let out another wail when Stiles automatically stepped forwards and placed a hand ever-so-gently on its leg.

 

“Hey, no, shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry. I got you,” Stiles spoke lightly to it. The child stared at his face, evaluating with big hazel eyes. Girl. Definitely a girl.

 

“Carry!” she demanded. Stiles blinked. Not a baby. Toddler. “I wan’ mummy!”

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles murmured, entirely detached from the situation. This was a dream. This had to be a dream.

 

“Up!” she declared with a grin, flinging her arms up into the air. Stiles slowly unbuckled the car seat she was strapped to, wrapped his hands around her waist and propped her up on his hip like he had seen other mothers do. Werewolf strength, he kept repeating in his head. Don’t crush the child to death. Werewolf -

 

Then the kid howled.

 

Stiles blinked again. That was a howl. A howl for the Alpha. She was calling Peter, she was –

 

“Hello, princess,” Peter said appearing from the utility room, walking over. “Was I taking too long?” he asked, confidently removing her from Stiles grip. Stiles let her go easily, fingers feeling numb and arms feeling useless. He tried taking a deep breath. Peter was putting her back into the carrier.

 

“You… you got a baby?” Stiles asked, incredulously. “You – you _left_ and you – Mikey is – and you left for - ”

 

Stiles gulped down air as black spots spun in front of him. He threw an arm out to the side as he staggered against a wall. Peter appeared and put his hands under his shoulders and guided him gently to the ground.

 

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here now Stiles, you’re not alone. I’m here.”

 

“You, you can’t - ”

 

Peter’s lips fell on Stiles’ and he kissed him deeply. Stiles clung to his shoulder, tears trickling out.

 

“It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here now,” Peter said lapping up the tears, kissing down his neck. “I missed you. I missed you desperately,” he half growled, pawing at Stiles’ pants.

 

“No, Peter, please - ” Peter flipped him down onto his chest, winding him, his claws scraped at the ground. “Peter!”

 

+

 

Stiles stared numbly at the holes in the floor. His fingers were long healed, but the ripped up floorboards were still there. Stiles closed his eyes and listened to the little tiny thump thump coming from their room upstairs. The baby was in their room. God, where did he get her from? Who did he get her from? When –

 

Stiles shook his head as he heard a rasping cough come from the garage, he stumbled up onto his shaky feet and made his way back to Mikey.

 

“Hey,” he said softly, grabbing at the cup of water and pressing it to Mikey’s lips.

 

“Hey,” he replied after a long draught. “So…”

 

“There’s a baby. She’s like… babbling real words so I guess she’s not a baby baby. Like a toddler. She’s a werewolf too. She likes Peter.”

 

“Well someone has to,” Michael groaned. Stiles snorted.

 

“Yeah. This is too far, right? This is… this is real crazy.”

 

“Whereas the pipe in my stomach is just foreplay,” Michael retorted.

 

“It’s a baby. What’s he - ” Stiles stopped for a breath. “What’s he gonna do to a baby?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not read this through twice, so my bad if there are mistakes. Go ahead and tell me and I'll edit as we go.
> 
> Also Merry Happy! I meant to give you this sooner but there's no wifi in Asfordby which is where I have been for the last month. Literally like my 3G signal would drop away on the road to this villiage, it was insane. In other news my lack of debt and credit cards means I cannot get a new phone. How crap is that? Now I need to get a credit card and buy something and then pay it off in order to show I can. Ridiculous. Rant over.


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles stared, dead eyes wide open as Peter took Laura through her night time routine. Bath. Pjs. Teeth. Story. Kiss. Night night. Laura fell asleep fast. Peter sat on the bed beside Stiles and rubbed a hand up and down his back.

“You'll be alright while I take care of Mikey, yes?”

Stiles swiveled his eyes round to Peter.

"Sure," he answered. "I'll just..."

"Get some rest," Peter finished for him, taking his arm and pushing him backwards. Stiles hit the bed with a thump, air wooshing out his chest. Peter leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I'll wake you when I want you."

+

It was a tiny little thing. Stumbling along. Screaming. Laughing. Bored. Scared. Fussy. She would flash amber eyes for everything. Peter said it was just because she was newly turned. It would soon die down and then she wouldn't be able to do much until puberty. Peter cooed over her, carried her around, let her fall asleep in his arms, looked at her like she was perfect.

It made Michael's hair stand on end.

He'd been in a few families where a baby had come along. Newly adopted, newly birthed - it didn't matter. He was either slowly pushed out, neglected, or turned into a scapegoat for over burdened parents. Michael resented babies. Logically he knew it made no sense, it wasn't their fault - how could it be - that their existence had upended his life quite a few times.

Now he was being replaced. Again.

"What do I - "

"Just hold her here, into the crook of your - that's it."

"Oh my god she just poked me in the eye."

"She was just checking, I'm sure. Laura, food?"

Laura immediately squirmed and Stiles struggled to keep a hold of her.

"I think that's a yes, come on then," he said trotting of to the kitchen, Stiles wandering after him. Michael slumped into the couch.

"Michael?"

Michael jumped when he heard his name, Peter stood in the doorway with a quirked eyebrow.

"Lunch is a family event."

"Sure," Michael muttered standing up and making his way past. Peter caught his arm.

"You didn't replace Stiles."

Michael frowned. "What?"

"It was a fear of Stiles' when you first met. Still is somewhere in his brain I imagine. That you would replace him and he would be swept aside. It's hard to get over those sorts of fears. Abandonment. Loneliness. Loveless" Peter said raising a hand to cup Michael's cheek. "He never allowed his fears to overcome him though. Never let them stop him from loving you."

"Fine, alright, I'll get it. I'll try harder with the monkey," Michael rolled his eyes.

"Good," Peter said patting his cheek. "I need everyone pulling their weight and I'd hate to have to replace you at such short notice."

Michael gritted his teeth and dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Oh come now, Michael, that was obviously a joke. Honestly, kids these days," he said pressing a kiss to Michael's temple and walking away. Michael took a deep calming breath. It's not a joke if no one's laughing.

+

She slept like a log. Flat out on her back, hands curled up holding on to imaginary items, soft wisps of hair sticking every which way. She breathed so loud, her chest expanding and falling constantly, the tiny pitter patter of her heart the noisiest thing in the house. She was so small and squishy. Never before had sleeping been so fascinating.

He wondered if his father watched him with this rapt attention.

+

"Hey," Stiles greeted, stepping into the living room.

"Hey," Michael replied from his spot beside the fireplace.

Stiles scooted down the wall and joined Michael on the floor, offering up a plate of chopped fruit. Michael snagged some apple pieces.

"Where's the monkey?" He asked.

"Peter's taking her for a walk to the beach," Stiles answered easily, the tiny wellie boots had been adorable.

"It is a nice day for it."

Stiles' heart started to hammer a million miles a minute. Michael gave him a funny look. Stiles steeled himself.

"I think you should run yourself," he whispered, bracing himself for the fallout.

"What?" Michael answered, stunned.

"It makes the most sense. We can't - " Stiles searched for the right words. "We can't leave a baby behind. We can't take her with us."

"Why not?" Michael argued.

"We'd never be able to run fast enough. Or stop her howling for Peter. Or look after her properly even if we do get away, they'd never let us keep her..." Stiles murmured, resigned. "We can't run with her. And I'm not leaving her all alone with - "

"Then I'll stay. You run."

Stiles blinked. "What?"

"You're the one with the home to go to. You run. I stay with monkey."

Stiles went still, unnaturally so as he worked through the idea. Leave Mikey behind? To deal with Peter's anger? Cope with keeping Laura safe by himself? To have all of Peter's attention? To move into the bed upstairs? To be forced to hunt Stiles? Maybe used as bait?

"I can't. Peter..."

"Sure. Of course," Michael said flippantly. "Because you're the only one he's tapping - oh wait. Well you're the only one he kidnapped - oh wait. You're absolutely the only one he loves. Gosh darnit he said that to the monkey the other day," he said snapping his fingers to match his sarcastic tone. "Don't try and kid yourself Stiles. The baby isn't the thing stopping you. You simply don't want to leave. And I don't want to leave you. So let's just drop this, alright? It wasn't like we were ever going to get far, right?"

Michael pushed himself up onto his feet and left the room. Stiles sat and listened to Michael clang around in the kitchen while he wrestled internally with his swirling thoughts.

Did he want to stay?

+

  
She babbled.

Stiles was transfixed with watching her speak. Regular intervals of complete chinese were broken up with english words with no grammar or meaning sprinkled with sing song nonsense, and throughout her hands danced.

He wondered if he were this odd when learning to speak.

+

Michael stared down at the creek's edge. The bank was steep here, rocks cropping out at the bottom, the stretch of water rolling by. It was peaceful. He dropped onto a tree's roots. Peter eased down beside him, only a light sheen where Michael has sweated through his shirt.

"It worked." Peter tilted his head. Michael elaborated. "Stiles doesn't want to run anymore. He's too scared about the kid."

Peter's mouth turned up at the corner into a crooked grin. "Why that was never my intention Michael. To think, using a child in such a manipulative fashion. One may even call it evil."

"Heinous."

"Genius."

Michael snorted.

"Did he say anything else?"

"Nah, not really. He told me I should run myself. I got angry. Stormed off."

Peter ran a hand up and down Michael's back in a comforting manner. "Don't worry. I'd hunt you down if you ran away just like anyone else in the pack."

"Gee Peter, you really soothed my fears."

"Why thank you Michael, now lets see if we can get this last leg in before lunch, hmm?" He said standing up. Michael hummed catching Peter's eye.

"Or..." Michael suggested, opening up his legs. "We could be late to lunch?"

Peter's eyes roamed down Michael's body before he smirked.

"I'm sure lunch will keep."

+

She laughed. It bubbled out of her like water spouting out the ground, exploded from her vocal chords, ot took over her whole body, her whole being.

No one could make her laugh like Peter.

She would toddle after him, like a baby duck, and Peter would sweep her up and around making her shriek and giggle, easily slot her on his hip whist doing other things, speak to her at just the right level, be firm and fair and steadfast against tantrums. Stiles could find himself staring at the two of them, their interactions, how good Peter looked as a dad -

He wondered how long it had been since he had laughed with his dad.  
+

“What’s the date?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. Stiles frowned at him.

“Peter. What’s the date?”

“Why do you care?”

“I want a calendar on the wall,” Stiles replied, taking Peter’s empty coffee cup and starting on the breakfast dishes.

“What?”

“I want a calendar on the wall. And a TV in the front room. And paint. God I want to paint our room a different colour. I’m pretty sure Mikey hates his room too. We need to change that. And a basketball hoop.”

Peter was quiet for a moment.

“What?” he asked completely confused.

Stiles slammed the dishcloth down into the sink. “You brought a kid into this house Peter,” Stiles said, barely controlling his rage. “A tiny little thing. A baby. A completely unspoiled infant. I will not have her be anything but normal. And loved. And that means home. Family. So we are getting a calendar and marking everyone’s birthday in it. Got it? She’s going to grow up watching cartoons on Saturday mornings. God, none of these rooms have been redecorated in years and if you want us to stay here that needs to change. And Mikey’s getting restless and I know you played in high school. You can teach him or something. Bond. Over something non violent.”

Stiles hadn’t realised he was crying until Peter turned him around and pulled him into his chest. Stiles let out a wrecked sob, soap suds dripping down his hands onto his sleeves, fangs biting into his bottom lip. Peter drew back after Stiles calmed down and kissed away the last of his tears and small trickle of blood left behind from the healing.

“I’ll get a pen and paper. We’ll make a list.” Stiles nodded at Peter’s suggestion and Peter slowly left the room, turning back when he reached the door. He met Stiles gaze. “Thank you.”

“For throwing a complete flakey in the middle of the kitchen? Anytime,” Stiles said, trying to pass it off glibly.

“No. For making a home with me.”

Stiles felt a strange well of emotions when he looked at Peter just then. It was intense.

“We should probably get married too,” Stiles blurted out in one breath. Peter’s eyes widened. Stiles flailed in horror. “Oh my god I didn’t mean –sh –fu- monkeys! I meant,” Stiles said scrabbling for the words. “Paperwork. For future reference. And to set a good example for her. And Mikey I suppose. Not that you haven’t already corrupted him past the point of no return. I just thought. If we ever want to enrol them in school – which I want to do, obviously. Maybe go myself. Or even like, hospitals and stuff, we’ll need to be, uh, a family, and -”

Peter cut Stiles off with a kiss.

“You could have done that a bit earlier there, Romeo,” Stiles muttered, hiding his face against Peter’s shoulder.

“I want you to remember that this was your idea when the time comes.”

Stiles sucked in a breath and nodded. “Okay. Now shoo. Get me some writing utensils.”

“Yes sir,” Peter said smacking him on the ass. Stiles yelped and rolled his eyes at Peter, turning back to the dishes.

That went well, accidental proposal aside.

Stiles groaned.

Peter was never going to let Stiles live this one down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I feel bad for how lazy I am with updates but at the same time... Yolo? Hit me up on tumblr if you wanna be my friend (and read my work before I publish?(on that note, any typos point em out))


	17. Chapter 17

They fell into a routine. A simple easy routine. Laura settled more and more into herself, forgetting to ask for her mother, forgetting to ask for her father.

 

She even begun calling Peter Fafa. A strange mix of dada and alpha.

 

Michael got Mikey.

 

Stiles got Dad.

 

The days go by.

 

+

 

Stiles was curled up in the window seat of the study, glass of lemonade in his hand, cold condensation dripping onto his fingers. He can hear Mikey and Laura squeal downstairs, running around, Peter click clacking on his computer. He sighed, leaning his head against the window pane.

 

“Such sighs from my lover,” Peter said absently, glancing over. Stiles stayed silent. Peter frowned, shutting off the computer and spinning round to examine him. Stiles’ eyes flicked over. Peter tilted his head, questioning.

 

“I…” Stiles shrugged, staring out the window again. Peter stood and made his way around the desk, sitting by him on the window seat, running a hand along the inside of Stiles’ thigh. Stiles’ tongue darted out to lick his lips.

 

“Come on now,” Peter urged quietly.

 

“I miss reading,” Stiles said as light as he could. Peter hummed rubbing his hand more firmly along Stiles’ thigh.

 

“My clever boy is getting no stimulus,” Peter replied just as lightly. Stiles gave a half shrug.

 

“Something like that,” he murmured.

 

“Well I’d better find a way of keeping you entertained,” Peter breathed before leaning over and giving Stiles a filthy kiss, tongues and teeth, pushing his thighs apart. The glass of lemonade slipped. Peter reared back.

 

“Fuck that’s cold,” Peter said pulling the fabric away from his crotch. Stiles was frozen. For about three seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not that funny.”

 

“It’s hilarious. Lemonade just cock blocked you,” Stiles snorted.

 

“You stay right there,” Peter said. “I’m going to get changed. Then I’m coming back for you,” he leaned over and gave Stiles another kiss. “Never let it be said that lemonade cock blocked me.” Stiles grinned.

 

“Aye aye, sir.”

 

Peter pecked him on the nose and left the room. Stiles sat staring out the window before he suddenly thought.

 

He was alone in the study.

 

Stiles’ eyes snapped to the computer.

 

Peter had said it wasn’t connected to the internet but Peter lies. Peter lies to trick Stiles and put him in corners.

 

Stiles lurched upright, dizzy. He took a step forward. Then another, hands now in reach he let his fingers trail along the desk edge. Another step forward and he was touching pens, pencils, paperweights, a tiny jewellery box –

 

Wait, what?

 

Stiles picked up the box and ran his fingers over it. A pretty little thing. Enamel cream with little carved embellishments. Stiles undid the clasp and opened it up gently. There was a necklace inside. Stiles pulled out the necklace and put down the box. A tiny gold chain with a locket. Stiles peered closer. An L on one side, an H on the other. Stiles frowned. Was this a gift for Laura?

 

“Stiles.”

 

Stiles jumped a mile and instinctively hid his hand behind his back. Peter narrowed his eyes.

 

“Have you been snooping?” Peter asked stepping forwards. Stiles took a half step back, swallowing. “Let me see what you’ve found.”

 

Stiles moved his arm jerkily, revealing the gold chain hanging from his fist.

 

“Put it back in the box,” Peter said darkly. Stiles’ heart thumped in his throat.

 

“What is it?” he croaked.

 

“Back. In the box.”

 

Stiles looked down at the chain. Not a gift if Peter was this upset. This angry. Peter stepped forwards. Stiles snatched the box from the table and placed the chain inside. Peter took the box from his hand carefully.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles breathed. Peter shook his head.

 

“I shouldn’t have left you alone in here,” Peter replied setting the box back down on the desk. He slipped his hand into Stiles’ and kissed him on the temple. “Now come along downstairs with me.”

 

“Downstairs?”

 

“The basement, I think for this.”

 

+

 

A tv showed up in the front room. Stiles and Mikey veg out on box sets which appear in bookcases which appear. Peter curled one into his lap and another into his side with his glass of wine and his kiss goodnight.

 

A toy room appeared upstairs. A tiny kitchen, a tiny shop, barbies, books. Walls full of posters about words. Games about counting. Kindergarten stuff.

 

Stiles would sit with her and read about animals and sharing. They were the only books in the house that weren’t in Peter’s study.

 

The weeks go by.

 

+

 

“Okay, now paste the pastry with the egg yoke,” Michael said from his bar stool at the kitchen island. Stiles dipped the bursh into the mug of yoke and covered the pastries with it. “Now into the oven and wait.”

 

Stiles slid the tray into the oven and slammed it in. “Magic. Soon, we will have dessert!”

 

“Desserr!” came the cry of Laura from her hair next to Mikey. Mikey captured one of her hands and pretended to eat her fingers.

 

“Nom nom nom,” Mikey laughed.

 

“No!” Laura squealed with a laugh. “No, Mikey!”

 

“No?” Mikey asked.

 

“No please,” Laura added.

 

“Okay,” Mikey replied.

 

“Kisses!”

 

“Kisses.”

 

“Playtime outside?” Stiles asked picking her up.

 

“Ball!” Laura exclaimed. Stiles laughed bouncing her up and down, making her giggle.

 

“Yeah, we’ll kick the ball, but first shoes…”

 

+

 

Flat packs turned up in Mikey’s room, with unreadable instructions for construction.

 

They build bonfires on the beach for marshmallow melting and tiny toes splash in the lake, with big toes following.

 

Peter appeared with paint samples for colour patches on the walls, a strange mosaic of mismatched rainbows streaked across the hallways of the house.

 

They started renovating the room next to theirs as a bedroom for Laura, she’s getting too big for the crib, too clever for their bedroom.

 

The months go by.

 

+

 

Michael opened his eyes slowly, blinking as the gentle dawn light filtered through his new curtains. He turned over in his new bed – a double – to find Stiles curled up there already. Purple bruising down his face slowly turning green, then yellow, then fading into nothing, leaving nothing but his pale freckle speckled skin. Michael stared at Stiles’ face, his pink lips, hair wisping around, eyelashes resting on his cheeks. Stiles huffed a little before settling again, sticking cold toes into Michael’s calves. Michael’s heart swooped and he grit his teeth.

 

He was so fucking gone on him.

 

“Hey,” Stiles croaked out.

 

“Hey,” Michael whispered back.

 

“Peter took Laura outside,” Stiles murmured, not even opening his eyes. Stiles always talked about Peter first. Michael brushed the hurt aside.

 

“Why?”

 

“She was restless. Tantrum. Wanted…” Stiles smacked his morning mouth. “Her mom.”

 

Michael edged in closer to Stiles, both of them easily falling into a snuggle.

 

“And you just ran straight into my bed, hm?”

 

Stiles snorted. “Don’t fool yourself, I’m only here for your body heat.”

 

“I know,” Michael replied softly as Stiles slipped off back to sleep. “I know.”

 

+

 

The air grows colder. Frost comes again.

 

Then Stiles realises.

 

It’s nearly been a year.


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles breathed deeply, easily ignoring the mouth barely biting along his should and neck, burrowing into the heat of Peter. He listened to the skipping stones of Michael and Laura somewhere down the shore, the noise of the rustling leaves as the wind passed through, the sound of Peter’s heartbeat thump thump, reverberating through his body, his veins, his skin, his teeth.

 

It felt lazy, the scrap of teeth along his skin, no intention of hurt behind it, rhythmic, almost like a massage, hand curled round his waist like fire on his skin, cold toes covered by hot toes in the sand.

 

“Soon it’ll snow. We won’t be able to do this,” Stiles commented, tilting his head back to rest on Peter’s shoulder and wiggling dirty sand between his toes. Peter ran his nose up along Stiles’ neck, his jugular, a grumble in his chest. “Christmas,” Stiles noted. Peter hummed. “I want a big Christmas this year,” he said spotting Mikey heading back to the house with Laura riding his shoulders. “For her, you know?”

 

Peter stopped his biting and ran his stubble over Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“What were you thinking?”

 

Stiles ran his hands over his knees. “Dunno. Big tree – we have the space – lights on the roof, tinsel on the bannister, stockings on the fireplace…”

 

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire?”

 

Stiles smiled. “Absolutely.”

 

“We can make our own decorations, we used to – ” Peter stopped abruptly, grip flexing against Stiles’ stomach.

 

“My mom,” Stiles started slowly. “Used to make ginger Santa cookies.”

 

“We used to make wreathes,” Peter replied. “Mulled wine. Knitted scarves. And a hunt. The biggest, baddest, thing in the woods, something that needed all of us, something to get our hearts pumping, to spill blood, make our sacrifice to…” Peter frowned, trailing off.

 

“The old gods?” Stiles interjected. Peter hummed.

 

“Something like that, I’m sure…”

 

“So let’s do it,” Stiles said turning onto his knees to face Peter. “Christmas.”

 

Peter tilted his head, eyes scanning Stiles’ face. “When it comes.”

 

Stiles nodded. “When it comes.”

 

+

 

Michael sat down heavily on the edge of the creek and stretched a crick out of his neck, staring out at the edge. Literally.

 

The edge of the territory.

 

He could run. He could step out off the edge. Go. He could probably out run Peter in the short term. Maybe even the long term if he went far enough. He could go to France. Egypt. Anywhere.

 

Michael stood up, still staring out at the freedom within his grasp.

 

Then he turned. Ran the perimeter. Returned home.

 

+

 

Stiles sat with Laura in his lap, looking up at the mood board. It was slowly filling with Christmas ideas, even a few Halloween ones trickled in – most likely from Mikey, Stiles thought absently.

 

“Then on Christmas Eve, Santa and all his reindeer take flight, and they go all around the whole wide world, delivering presents to all the good boys and girls,” Stiles told Laura, who’s big eyes were rapt with attention, fingers being chewed on. Stiles gently pulled her hand out her mouth and wiped her slobber onto his sleeve without blinking. “And do you know how he gets into everyone’s house with his sack full of presents?” Laura shook her head. “Well he tells Rudolf to land on the roof of the house, and all the reindeer follow Rudolf.”

 

“Nose so bright!” Laura sing songed to him sagely.

 

“That’s right,” Stiles nodded. That was last week’s lesson. “The Santa takes his sack and he climbs down the chimney and comes out the fireplace!”

 

Laura’s jaw dropped in shock.

 

“No! Santa too big!”

 

Stiles leaned in and whispered. “Ah, you see Santa is magic. But sometimes he does get stuck. So we have to help him. And there’s a song we sing when he gets stuck.”

 

“Song!”

 

Michael walked into Stiles and Laura dancing and singing around the kitchen. “When Santa got stuck up the chimney he began to shout…”

 

“Hey,” Michael said entering in, leaving his shoes in the utility room.

 

“Hey,” Stiles replied conspiratorially. “Laura, wanna show Uncle Mikey what song we learned today?”

 

Laura’s chubby arms flung out, eyes flashing dimly. “My Kay!”

 

“Lala!” Michael responded smiling, swooping her up and around before settling her on his hip. Stiles flashed him a grin and shook his head gently. Michael stuck his tongue out at Stiles. Laura copied him. Stiles rolled his eyes but kept grinning.

 

Why on Earth would he run away from this?

 

+

 

“I don’t remember doing anything wrong,” Michael commented as he followed Peter down the basement steps, swinging the door shut behind him.

 

“You didn’t,” Peter replied, voice echoing creepily in the darkness. “This is a lesson.”

 

Light flared around the room, pointed onto a person duct taped onto a chair, gagged, terrified. Michael’s breathing went shallow as he tried not to breathe it in.

 

“I don’t remember earning a lesson,” Michael retorted, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. Peter stepped into the light behind the man, shadows playing across his face and placed his hand on the man’s neck. The man tried to speak, muffled sounds barely reaching Michael’s ears. Michael gritted his teeth and avoided eye contact ruthlessly. “Peter - ”

 

“He’s not a kind man,” Peter cut in easily. “You won’t be upset with hurting him.”

 

Michael felt a spark of anger.

 

“Have I mentioned how much I appreciate it when you tell me how I should feel?”

 

Peter smirked. “Gives you a good guide to follow, doesn’t it? My perfect little beta,” Peter’s eyes flicked up and down Michael’s form. “Now come here. Let me make good on my promise.”

 

Michael steeled himself and stepped into the light, skirting round the man before standing next to Peter. There was a wedding band on the man’s hand. Shiny. New.

 

Peter slipped an arm around Michael, jerking him out of his thoughts. He pulled him over until he was flushed along his chest, the arm locked tight around his waist.

 

“You know what happens to a running chicken when you cut off its head?” Peter breathed into Michael’s ear.

 

“It, uhm, keeps running?” Michael replied claws emerging from anxiety.

 

Peter crooned. “Just breathe, baby - ”

 

Michael snarled.

 

“Don’t call me that - ”

 

“Just breathe,” Peter repeated more firmly, running a hand up and down his arm. Michael pulled back his fear and anger. Breathing deeper he could smell the sweat of the man, his panic, his pain.

 

“Peter what - ”

 

“The chicken runs because the spinal cord stores the brain’s instructions – a brain stem,” Peter said gently running his claws along the nape of the man’s neck. “Which connects the body to the brain. So the chicken can run without a head. Without a brain.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Michael questioned quietly, confused.

 

“Because werewolves are magic,” Peter replied lightly. “I have no idea if you’ll be able to do this, but my grandfather taught me the practicalities long before I could do it.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Control memories.”

 

It didn’t sink in.

 

“What.”

 

“View them, take them, splice them into something ugly but new,” Peter described richly.

 

“Memories,” Michael repeated, still not quite grasping.

 

“Through the spinal chord. Which is why it requires practice,” Peter said lining his claws up along the back of the man’s neck. “Done wrong it can lead to paralysis: or death.”

 

The man moaned and struggled again. Michael bit back his dread as his heart flipped. Peter trailed his lips over the shell of Michael’s ear.

 

“Now let me show you a magic trick.”

 

+

 

Michael listened as Peter ran out of earshot, listened as Stiles woke, tossed, turned, then came down the stairs and crept into his room.

 

He frowned as he entered the bed, burrowing under the blankets and curling up to face Michael.

 

“Can’t sleep?” Stiles asked. Michael ground his teeth together, staring at the ceiling, hearing phantom muted screams in his ears.

 

“Peter…” Michael searched for the words. “Taught me something.”

 

“He does love to talk,” Stiles muttered.

 

Michael let out a breath. He turned onto his side and eyed Stiles. Stiles suddenly caught his look and regarded him with the same scrutiny.

 

“Michael?”

 

“He can take memories. He can - ” Michael swallowed. “He can reach into your brain and - ” Michael balled his hands up into fists, frustrated, his fangs dropping out.

 

“I know.”

 

Michael’s eyes widened at Stiles’ quiet admission.

 

“You knew,” Michael hissed. Stiles looked away. Michael sat up, twisting. “You knew!”

 

“You’ll wake Laura.”

 

Michael’s anger surged. He stood, pacing, absorbing. Stiles sat up, watching. How could he – how could –

 

“How could you keep a secret like that?” Michael hissed. “How could you – he can fuck with our minds!”

 

Stiles curled his legs to his chest. “It’s noticeable,” Stiles said evenly. Michael froze.

 

“How do you know?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “I learned something. Or heard something. Or saw something. I don’t know,” Stiles licked his lips. “I remember the four dead people he practiced on. Apparently it can be quite dangerous,” Stiles said glibly. “It must have been something big to make him risk it. Me.”

 

Michael stood taking Stiles in for a moment before edging closer to the bed.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot. You’ve…” Michael rubbed his chin, scratching. “Endured him longer.”

 

“I - ” Stiles stopped and thought before starting again. “I should have told you. I just… don’t like to think on what’s behind me.”

 

Michael sat on the bed beside him, deflated, defeated.

 

“Me neither.”

 

Stiles wrapped an arm around Michael and pulled him in. Michael pressed his nose into Stiles’ shoulder and breathed him in, calmed by his scent, his heartbeat.

 

“I never knew my father. Mom said he was a one night stand – well, a one perfect night of romance she said to me, she never could track him down,” Michael said quietly, feeling this desperate need to share, to look back, to think on what’s behind him. “I’m not sure I believe that. She was a journalist. She could have… Maybe, I dunno.” Maybe she had tried, searched desperately, not found him, found him, hated him, not found him, found him dead, found him married, not found him. “My granddad – never knew him – but he had owned a paper. It was gone by the time I was around but, mom and my aunt had ink in their blood.” Michael smiled. “There was a man I called dad. I never minded having two. Half the time I had two moms, what with my aunt…” Michael felt a lump form in his throat. “I hate thinking about them. How happy we were for so little a time. How shit everything got so quickly - ”

 

Michael cut himself off and curled into Stiles’ side.

 

“I can’t – I won’t let him fuck with that. He can - ” Michael blurted out quickly. “He can fuck with me as much as he likes now, but I can’t let him touch that. Touch those years.”

 

Stiles’ fingers were tight, bruising his arm.

 

“Peter understands the sanctity of those types of memories,” Stiles murmured darkly. “He has his own dead treasures in his head,” Stiles told him. “And he’s never dared touched mine.” Stiles pushed his hand through his hair, thinking. “It’s obvious, the… gap. It gets misty, like a bruise that’s only sore when you poke it. Easy to ignore. Easy to find when you’re looking,” Stiles said pulling him down and back under the blankets.

 

“Yeah,” Michael said, following Stiles easily back into the bed, resting his head on the pillows. “When you’re looking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are such champs so I thought I'd reward you - I have been reading all your comments, I love them dearly even if I don't reply to them all. I think I've got this whole curve sorted in my brain now so we may have smooth sailing for a little while. Yay? Lotsa lurve


	19. Chapter 19

 

There was glitter on his nose.

 

“Mikey?”

 

“Yup,” Michael said eyes snapping up to Peter’s.

 

“Laura has requested your help with the shapes,” Peter said. “She’d like three triangles cut out.”

 

Michael glanced down at the craft table in front of him, easily finding the child safety scissors. “Of course, Lala,” Michael said. “What colour would you like?”

 

“Blue!” she exclaimed drawing with the glitter pens.

 

“Please,” Peter tacked on.

 

“Please,” Laura repeated.

 

“Of course,” Michael said picking up the blue card and cutting out the triangles.

 

He didn’t tell Peter about the glitter.

 

+

 

“Fafa?”

 

“Yes little wolf?”

 

Laura was curled up in Peter’s arm as he carried her up the stairs to her room.

 

“Wan mummy,” she sighed wistfully into his neck.

 

“No mummy anymore, she wants me to have you now.”

 

“Wan mummy to have chrisssmas,” she said matter of factly.

 

“I’ll make sure she gets Christmas, no worries.”

 

“No worries,” she repeated. Peter opened up the door to her room and tucked her in. She was asleep before he finished. He switched on her nightlight before switching off the main one, then slipped back to the ground floor to find Stiles and Michael vegging out in front of the tv.

 

Teenagers.

 

Peter switched the tv off, and was immediately assaulted with complaints to which he raised an eyebrow and they were silenced.

 

Good.

 

“A glass of red. And a recital – or reading, if nothing comes to mind,” Peter stated, and then left the room to sit on the sofa in the next room confident his orders would be carried out. He heard Michael scarper upstairs to the study to snatch a book. Stiles came through with the red.

 

“Would you like the fireplace lit?” Peter asked taking the glass from him, breathing in the wine. Stiles shrugged.

 

“Would you?” he asked unsure. Peter smiled.

 

“I’m sure you’ll warm me well enough, it’s you who often finds me lacking.”

 

Stiles froze, a sudden uptick in his heart. His mind whirled trying to find words. Peter waited.

 

“If I ever seem like I’m lacking, it’s only because I want more of you,” he said sweetly. Peter smirked. Such a clever boy.

 

“Then more you shall have,” he replied simply, letting the implications settle in as he raised his hand. Stiles took it and let himself be drawn onto his lap. “A sip of wine?”

 

“I’m still not fond of it,” Stiles answered.

 

“An acquired taste,” Peter replied easily. “And it probably needs a little while longer to breathe.”

 

“Such a connoisseur,” Stiles jested.

 

“A sensitive nose makes for a great sommelier.”

 

“Somm…eler?” Stiles queried.

 

“A person who picks and pairs wines in restaurants to food and such,” Peter explained. “It’s a good job, pays well.”

 

“Was it your job?”

 

“Hamlet?”

 

Peter looked to Michael, carrying a book into the room.

 

“In the mood for killing a king?” he asked.

 

“I just love the Lion King.”

 

“Oh my god,” Stiles realised. “Hamlet is the Lion King.”

 

Peter snorted.

 

“Let’s hear it then. Begin.”

 

+

 

They carved out pumpkins with scary and silly faces to put on the steps outside. They paraded around in whatever costumes Laura brought out the dress up box. They ran through the woods away from the bad spirits, playing hide and seek and tag. They strung candy corn together and told spooky stories around a bonfire before dunking for apples and smothering them in caramel. There was even a prank played on Peter involving a door and a bucket of flour that lit Laura up like a lantern. The only penance was playing dress up for Peter in a different sort of costume later on. Fucking sexy red riding hood. With stockings.

 

In retrospect… still totally worth it.

 

+

 

“So,” Peter asked breaking his mouth away from his nipple. “Have you been naughty or nice?”

 

Michael blinked, breathless, trying to figure the question out.

 

“What?”

 

“Christmas, dumbass,” Peter said, slapping Michael’s ass to punctuate the point. “You have any presents in mind? Have you written a list to santa?” He pulled Michael’s ankles over his shoulders. “I’d be happy to post it for you.”

 

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t talk during these interludes,” Michael panted. Peter smirked.

 

“Only someone who wants to be on the naughty list would say that.”

 

+

 

“Lala, we need to put on our booties before we go outside,” Stiles said as patiently as he could. Ever since Laura had bounced into the bedroom at stupid o’clock in the morning demanding to go play in the snow she had been nearly unbearable.

 

“No!”

 

“Laura - ”

 

Laura stomped off to the front door.

 

“Laura, come back here now,” Stiles called. “Laura if you don’t behave there’ll be no snow today.”

 

“NO!”

 

Great, Stiles thought. We’re in full on tantrum mode now.

 

“Laura- ”

 

“Laura.”

 

Peter glided off the last step on the staircase and walked towards the child now battering at the front door. She turned to Peter and shouted.

 

“No!”

 

Then she ran in a little circle and tried to dart around Peter. Peter easily caught her around the waist and knelt down. Stiles’ felt a fear fill him.

 

“Laura.”

 

Laura screamed at the top of her voice.

 

“ **Stop.** ”

 

Laura snapped her mouth shut and stamped her feet.

 

“You’re going to sit on the naughty step for a whole five minutes. No snow today,” Peter said calmly.

 

“I want snow!” Laura shouted.

 

“After you sit on the naughty step I will ask you to pick between no snow or no Christmas. Because naughty girls can’t have both.”

 

Laura’s eyes went round at the thought of cancelling Christmas.

 

“Do you want carried to the step, or will you hold my hand?”

 

Laura wrapped her hands around Peter’s neck, corralled into obedience. Peter picked her up and headed up the stairs. The naughty step was at the bottom of the second floor staircase. It wasn’t until Peter placed Laura gently down and went back to his study that Stiles finally breathed, pulling at his own hair until his panic died down.

 

Peter’s not going to hurt Laura.

 

He’s not.

 

He’s not.

 

+

 

Stiles watched as Peter stripped off his clothes, donned sleeping pants, and clambered into bed, hands snaking out to pull Stiles in.

 

“So what do you want for Christmas then?” Stiles asked. Peter snorted.

 

“What were you thinking of getting me?” Peter husked into Stiles ear, hand dipping beneath his pj bottoms. Stiles squirmed.

 

“Peter!” Stiles mock admonished. “Behaviour like this will get you put on the naughty list.”

 

“I think my present would get me put on the naughty list,” Peter gravelled back. Stiles twisted round to face him.

 

“So you do know what you want,” Stiles crowed. Peter bit his lip and leaned in for a kiss, pushing Stiles down against the mattress.

 

“I’d quite like to wrap you up,” Peter purred into Stiles’ ear. “Red ribbons and bows. Waiting on my bed, for me to unwrap you,” he chuckled and sucked down on a spot below Stiles’ earlobe. “Or not.”

 

Stiles’ mind was going a mile a minute. “That uh, oh,” his toes curled as Peter did that thing with his mouth on his neck. “May not be feasible what with our little angel next door.”

 

“We can wear her out. Put her in uncle Mikey’s room to be safe,” Peter breathed as he pulled down their pants. “We could even do it in the basement.” Stiles flinched instinctively.

 

“That’s one way to kill the mood,” he muttered. Peter pulled back.

 

“Care to repeat that?”

 

Stiles opened his mouth, then shut it again.

 

“I…” Stiles ran his hands over Peter’s chest. “I just meant that I don’t like bringing up punishment when we’re making love?” Stiles spoke. “Does that… make sense?”

 

Stiles waited with baited breath for Peter to react. He ran a thumb across Stiles’ lip.

 

“I don’t appreciate cheek.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles rushed out, catching his breath back.

 

“I think I can forgive you this once,” Peter commented. “But I’ll be having my Christmas present.”

 

“Of course,” Stiles agreed. Peter stared at him for a moment.

 

“Turn over.”

 

“Peter - ”

 

“Turn.”

 

+

 

Stiles had a googly eye, cotton wool, brown felt, and a pound of rainbow glitter stuck to his arms – but it was well worth the mess for such masterpieces to have been made: according to Laura.

 

“Okay Lala, who is this card for?” Stiles asked. “And what colour of pen would you like?”

 

“That one please,” she said picking it up and giving it to Stiles.

 

“Ta,” Stiles automatically replied, flicking the pen off and letting Laura dive under his arms to see the inside of the Christmas card.

 

“To Mumma,” Laura said decisively. “Be good for Santa.”

 

Stiles took a moment before putting pen to page.

 

“All done,” he lied, putting the pen down. Laura snatched up the pen.

 

“Me,” she said and put the pen to the page, colouring in. Stiles rubbed his hand up and down her back as she concentrated. “Done!” she exclaimed. Stiles peered over her shoulder where she was pointed.

 

“Oh wow,” Stiles said leaning closer. “Who taught you this?” he asked.

 

“Muma,” she said, then grabbed another one of the cards. “This for Fafa,” she instructed putting a red pen in his hand.

 

“Wait,” Stiles said. “She taught you - ”

 

“Lucy lamp light and Harry hat man!” She explained. “l and h for me, now this one is Fafa’s,” she said tapping the card.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said tapering down the sudden influx of thought. L. H. Those were her initials. The necklace, with her initials, it was from her mother not Peter. That’s why he was so angry. That’s why –

 

“Dada,” she poked at his chest. Stiles blinked.

 

“Sorry, girlie. For Fafa?”

 

“Yup,” she popped, then screwed up her face. “Where’s your Fafa?”

 

Stiles’ heart twisted.

 

“He’s… far away,” Stiles managed to get out without dissolving into tears. Laura nodded wisely.

 

“Like Muma,” she said. “I give card,” she said determinedly grabbing a piece of paper and starting drawing. Stiles could hardly breathe, a complete shut down now in motion. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later when he heard the doors downstairs open and close.

 

“Peter,” Stiles pleaded. He heard Peter’s feet move swiftly dashing up the stairs, followed by Michael. Peter’s eyes roamed the room on high alert, seeing no danger he raised an eyebrow at Stiles. Stiles gestured to Laura on his lap then held up his hands in a surrender pose. Peter crouched down and retrieved Laura from him. The second Laura was out his lap Stiles ran from the room, finally allowing the flood of grief to that had threatened to swamp him hit. He ran outside into the woods before his legs gave out, howling and snarling and crying. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair. He didn’t get his dad, she didn’t get her mom, Peter had, Peter –

 

Snow crunched.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“He took her, he took her Mikey, he’s a fucking child snatcher and - ” Stiles inhaled with a sob. “I want my dad, I want, want my - ”

 

Arms tightened around him as he heaved in air, Michael whispering a litany of comforts: it’s okay I’m sorry I’m here shh it’s okay.

 

“My heart, my heart _hurts_ Mikey. My heart…” Stiles whined, resting his head on Michael’s shoulder, slowly calming down, listening to the steady thrum of Michael beside him. He breathed in two three out two three in two three out two three...

 

Soon Michael pulled back.

 

“Wh – what?” Stiles tried to focus.

 

“He’s calling for me,” Michael muttered staring off into the trees. “He’s got the monkey with - ”

 

“Go,” Stiles sniffed. “I’m… I’m alright. I’ve probably upset her, go and… I’m right behind, okay?”

 

Michael peered intently into Stiles face. “Stiles, I - ”

 

“Go. Please?” Stiles pleaded, breath turning into mist, god he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. “There’s no reason for him to be angry at both of us.”

 

Michael’s lip curled into a snarl. “Fucker,” he muttered. Stiles pushed at him gently. Michael stood, stomping off into the snow like an angry teenager.

 

Stiles stood also, gearing up for the walk back, not quite ready to return.

 

He heard Peter’s approach.

 

Stiles nearly let out a scream of frustration, but he managed to keep it in.

 

Stiles avoided Peter’s gaze as he walked toward him. Peter flicked a claw and tilted Stiles’ head up to face him.

 

“Oh my sweet,” he murmured leaning close and mouthing at the tears that still clung to his face. “Shall I carry you home?” he asked gently.  Stiles couldn’t feel his feet covered in now sodden and ruined socks. He nodded, crying again. “Oh, Stiles, my love,” Peter crooned lapping at the tears before lifting him up bridal style and letting him bury his frozen nose into his neck.

 

“We’ll need to talk about this later,” Peter started. “But after we convince Laura that she wasn’t the one who made you run away,” he frowned. “Apparently she has some abandonment issues.”

 

“Probably because you stole her and keep telling her that her mother is gone,” Stiles stated, quietly revolting. Peter hummed.

 

“Yes, we’ll definitely need to talk about this later.”

 

+

 

Stiles was laid up in bed the next morning as his feet healed when Laura skipped in waving a card. She climbed up onto the bed and landed in Stiles’ lap, already rambling on.

 

“And this one is Michael’s, causesesgoat stars,” she explained laying out all the cards and pointing. Stiles hummed and brushed her hair away from her face. “That is for your fafa so itsgoatredan and and the santa and snow,” she said pointing at the middle card. “One for - ”

 

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted, catching up with Laura’s chinese. “This one is for my fafa?” Stiles asked pointing at the big red circle santa. Laura nodded.

 

“Yuhuh, Mykey, mykey did the, the, this bit,” she said picking up the card and showing it to Stiles, opening it up and revealing the writing. “So it says christmas for yourfafa.”

 

Stiles ran his fingers over Michael’s message: t _o Sheriff Stiles’ Dad, we hope you have a great Christmas, love_ … And Laura’s large initials scrawled in green crayon at the bottom.

 

“It’s beautiful, Lala, so perfect. My…” Stiles took a breath, changed tact. “Your grampa will love it. I’ll send it out in the post, okay?”

 

Laura squealed and kissed his cheek in thanks before running out the room again, leaving a trail of glitter behind her. Stiles stacked the card and left them on Peter’s bedside table.

 

A while later Peter came up with a lunch tray.

 

“Food for thought,” Peter commented. Stiles frowned.

 

“I don’t think that’s what the phrase means…”

 

“And yet,” Peter said sitting by Stiles and placing the tray over his lap. “You’re thinking rather loudly.”

 

“Laura made some cards,” Stiles said picking up hotdog. “Mm, ketchup,” he said licking his fingers as it dripped down. “She uh, wants to send one to her grampa. It’s on the table, so uh,” Stiles gestured.

 

“I’ll deal with it,” Peter said absently handing over a napkin.

 

“Will you send it or just destroy it? Wait, no, don’t answer that,” Stiles corrected himself. “I don’t want to know.”

 

“Alright,” Peter said perusing the offending item. “I won’t.”

 

“But - ” Stiles licked his lips, Peter eyed him. “Tell her he got it and he - ”

 

“Loved it. Obviously,” Peter finished for him. “You needn’t worry when it comes to her. Me and her,” he said plainly, lifting a hand and running a thumb down his cheek. “She’s our baby. We’re making a family here.”

 

“Peter,” Stiles said suddenly pained. “She - ”

 

“Is a werewolf. My werewolf. My baby, mine,” Peter said firmly. “Yours too now.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, staring down at the card. “Mine too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm spoiling you, but I'm just really excited about having writing going (also anyone interested in 0024l, go onto my tumblr and answer my questions please cause like, sequel giving me grief guys)


	20. Chapter 20

“That’s a great snow man,” Mikey commented, stomping his way toward their snow mounds.

 

“Snow girl,” Laura corrected. Michael nodded.

 

“My apologies. She’s obviously a snow girl,” Michael drawled rolling his eyes at Stiles. “Come on now, lunch time.”

 

Stiles and Laura stood up and followed Michael back into the house, coming in through the utility side door and stripping off their wet stuff.

 

“Let’s have lunch by the fireplace to help us warm up,” Stiles suggested, brushing some snow off Laura’s face with a towel. Laura laughed as the towel swooped over her face.

 

“I want nuggets,” Laura declared. Stiles hummed.

 

“We just have to see what Mikey’s been kind enough to make,” Stiles told her. Laura frowned.

 

“I want nuggets please,” she tried. Stiles snorted.

 

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

 

Laura was somewhat mollified and dashed off through the kitchen into the big room where the fire was already lit. Stiles sighed and changed into the spare set of pants he’d left in the tumble drier earlier.

 

“What is for lunch?” Stiles asked as he headed into the kitchen and grabbed some plates.

 

“Ham and cheese toasties,” Michael replied, picking up a bowl of already triangular cut pieces. “Then, like, an apple?”

 

“Yummy,” Stiles commented. “Let’s go through.”

 

They all sat around on the rug in front of the fireplace and ate watching the flames gently burn the wood, telling Michael all about the snow village they had made and the song they had learned - walking in a winter wonderland - which had many words, but Laura seemed to get most of the important ones. As Laura was babbling through the chorus Stiles heard to a thunk thunk upstairs and frowned, looking to Michael. Michael was staring up at the ceiling too. Stiles was curious as Peter made his way downstairs.

 

“Have any of you got plans for the rest of the day?” he asked coming in carrying a large cardboard box.

 

“What’s that?” Laura asked standing. Peter set the box down and crouched beside her.

 

“Shall we look?” Peter enticed her, patting the box.

 

Laura gave a big grin and her little hands went for the lid revealing a swathe of gold and glitter.

 

“What is it!” she asked bouncing, excited but still not sure what was going on.

 

“Tinsel,” Michael answered.

 

“Tinsel!” Laura repeated half diving into the box. Peter easily retracted her.

 

“We’re going to make the house ready for Christmas,” he said. “That is, if you want to?”

 

-

 

They had taken the box and started at the top of the house. Giant gold and white snowflakes went on windows, glitter bells were hung over the stairs, tinsel wrapped around banister legs, red candles put on shelves, wreathes on doors and above fireplaces. They ended where they began – not before a small interlude for dinner - downstairs in front of the fireplace, collapsed in a heap on the couch. Laura was curled up on Peter’s chest, completely spent, Peter’s hand rubbing up and down her back softly.

 

“Poor thing, all tuckered out,” Peter murmured. Stiles hummed. “I didn’t even get to tell her about tomorrow.”

 

“What’s tomorrow?” Stiles asked sleepily. Peter smirked.

 

“You’ll see.”

 

-

 

Peter woke him up the next morning.

 

“Get Laura up and dressed, don’t let her in the big room until after breakfast.”

 

Then he was gone.

 

Stiles shook his head and got ready before getting Laura out of bed, ready and then downstairs to breakfast.

 

“Big breakfast today,” Michael said putting scrambled eggs and bacon down. Stiles inhaled his food, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and then washing dishes as Michael helped Laura eat. Peter entered the kitchen with a smug look on his face.

 

“What’s up with you?” Stiles asked, stacking the last dish. Michael had taken Laura’s plate away and was now wiping her hands and face free of bacon grease.

 

“Let’s go and see what’s next door, shall we?” Peter said taking a now clean Laura out of her seat putting her on the floor. She toddled along after Peter, Stiles and Mikey following.

 

There were another few cardboard boxes strewn around but what really took up Stiles’ attention was the eight foot tree in the middle of the room. A tree.

 

Laura went ballistic.

 

“TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

 

Stiles glanced over at Michael and spotted a small look of horror on his face. Stiles couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. Michael went red.

 

“Shut up,” he muttered.

 

“You’re scared of a four year old,” Stiles said with a grin.

 

“A four year old high on Christmas, Stiles,” Michael explained. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”

 

-

 

It wasn’t a nightmare.

 

Mostly.

 

Peter managed to curb Laura’s enthusiasm, had scheduled breaks for rest and planning and biscuits and lunch, didn’t overwhelm anyone with decisions. It was smooth sailing all things considered. With only two minor tantrum from Laura, and a large one from Michael which had to be resolved by a run outside with Peter. However, by dinner time they had a tree which may have looked like a bomb hit it in certain places, but was actually very pretty if Stiles didn’t say so himself.

 

“Everything’s gold,” Michael said still slurping up his noodles. Stiles looked over the tree. Gold tinsel, gold reindeer, golden and glittery baubles of ll different designs, little gold angels, golden twinkle lights, giant ass gold star on the top…

 

“Candy canes are red,” Stiles noted.

 

“Pretty,” Laura chirped.

 

“Yeah,” Peter said eyeing the way Laura’s head was drooping. “Come on now, time for bed,”

 

“Noo,” Laura whimpered.

 

“Yes, now. I’ve got fun plans for tomorrow. You need to get lots of sleep,” he said easing her up onto her little feet. “By the time we have a bath and brush our teeth and get into our pyjamas it’ll be bedtime. So say night night.”

 

“Nigh nigh, Myky,” Laura mumbled, walking over the couch to give a slobbering kiss onto his cheek.

 

“Nighty night monkey,” he said.

 

“Night nigh, Dada,” she said in the same whispy voice managing to get arms around Stiles.

 

“Sweet dreams,” Stiles said kissing her head and letting her slid down the couch and walk off holding Peter’s hand.

 

“Bit of an early bedtime,” Michael said, shovelling the last of the food into his mouth.

 

“She’s tired,” Stiles said with a shrug.

 

“She’s been tired out,” Michael corrected with a sweep of his fork. “He’s planning something.”

 

Stiles hummed and looked over the Christmas tree. It was pretty golden. It looked magical. A far cry from the white plastic tree with the multi-coloured lights Dad had in his house.

 

“Maybe it’s a good something?” Stiles tried, nudging Michael with his shoulder. “A Christmas surprise?” Michael raised an eyebrow at him. Stiles shrugged. “Fine then, be a sourwolf.”

 

Michael snorted but hid a soft grin under his noodle eating.

 

“What uh,” Michael tried to ask. “What do you want from Santa?”

 

Stiles laughed. “We doing this?” Michael shrugged. “Alright…” Stiles pondered tapping his fingers against the couch. “I want to see the Superman film. And Iron Man three. Oh, the new grand theft auto game. You?”

 

“I want new jeans. And to see Jay Z perform,” he answered, setting his plate and fork on the table before settling back next to Stiles on the couch.

 

“Jay Z?” Stiles asked.

 

“Yeah man. What’s wrong with Jay Z?”

 

“Nothing, man. Just pegged you more for Kayne West,” Stiles mocked.

 

“Could see both, nothing stopping us,” Michael replied.

 

“I could drive,” Stiles added.

 

“Could stop for icecream on the way home,” Michael continued.

 

“Sneak back in through the window.”

 

“Never know we were gone.”

 

Stiles wrapped an arm round Michael’s shoulders.

 

“That got depressing quick.”

 

“Sorry,” Mikey apologised.

 

“Nah, don’t it…” Stiles shifted, trying to get a grip on his melancholy. “It’s alright.”

 

Michael turned his face toward Stiles and ran his nose along Stiles cheek before twisted round and kissing him, hands going for waists, the slide of tongue along lips and –

 

“Stop.”

 

Michael pulled back resting his forehead against Stiles’. He had managed to get up into Stiles’ lap, straddling him, breathing heavily.

 

“Stiles, please - ”

 

“I can’t do - ”

 

“I know, but - ”

 

“Boys.”

 

Michael lurched off Stiles’ lap and tried to look nonchalant. Peter scoffed.

 

“Seeing as how the squirt is fast asleep, if you’re both free I’d quite like to go hunting for our Christmas dinner,” he said.

 

“Sounds great,” Michael said. Stiles nodded without meeting Peter’s eyes.

 

“Fabulous, we’ll be hunting in the snow so shoes on. Five minutes.”

 

Peter turned and went into the kitchen. Stiles licked his lips. They tasted like soy.

 

“We should get ready,” Stiles stood.

 

“Stiles…” Michael sighed. “Sorry.”

 

Stiles nodded jerkily.

 

“Yeah, just… I can’t fuck things up with you, you know?”

 

Michael nodded. “Yeah, I, yeah, I know. Let’s, uh, get shoes.”

 

+

 

Peter’s first thought was to check in on Laura when they got back, even with blood still under his claws. He stood outside her room and listened to her little heart beat patter in the calmed lull of sleep. Satisfied he crept back downstairs and helped Michael and Stiles lug the bloody deer carcass into the garage.

 

“… let her see Bambi.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Peter silently stepped up behind them, pleased at the way Michael automatically readjusted himself to accommodate for Peter’s presence. Peter hefted the main weight of the beast up and onto the table.

 

“Go shower, then bed,” Peter said. “She’ll be up early in the morning I’m sure.”

 

Stiles nodded and made for the door. Michael pulled down the outside garage door but stayed behind.

 

“I could help,” he said licking his lips. “If you wanted?”

 

Peter ran his eyes over Michael. The blood pumping through the boys veins, the effort he put into staying in control in this very moment…

 

“Clothes off.”

 

Michael shoulders eased in relief and he pulled off his jacket and shirt in one motion. He kicked off his shoes and pulled down his pants in a endearingly awkward fashion. Boys were always in such a rush. When Michael was bare he paused, panting, getting cold, hesitant.

 

“You - ” Michael stopped. Peter waited, deciding to let Michael to pick the next step. “You want me to put an apron on? Or just stand here and look pretty?” Peter smirked. He always liked it when Michael chose aggression.

 

“Well you are awfully pretty,” Peter retorted. “And I do need to hang this deer.”

 

Peter turned to the hanging hooks, preparing the deer whilst ignoring Michael standing shivering. He hooked the deer on and hoisted it  away, watching as the bloody deer slid along the table to hang. When he was done he glanced back over at Michael.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you waiting on me?”

 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Michael muttered. Peter approached.

 

“I’m sorry I don’t think we have time for that tonight. It’s late, I’m tired,” Peter teased, running his knuckles from Michael’s stomach over his hip and down his thigh, making Michael’s abdomen muscles contract and his claws grow. “How about you pop up on the table and I bring you off nice and quick.”

 

Michael moved an inch before he stopped.

 

“The table?”

 

Peter nodded, lifting a hand and smoothing a stray hair from Michael’s face. “It might be a bit messy for you but you’ll be going for a shower straight after. I don’t really see a problem.”

 

Michael’s face went squeamish as he looked at the table covered with deer blood and bits.

 

“It’s where I want you Michael,” Peter coaxed, his hand now skimming up the inside of Michael’s thigh. “Or you could leave, but I imagine that would render your wait as being rather futile.”

 

Michael’s eyes flashed yellow as he shouldered past him and approached the table. Turning around he lifted himself up onto it and lay back, eyes shut, breathing shallow.

 

“Now hurry up and make me feel good.”

 

“Of course Michael,” Peter said, stepping up and pushing Mikey further down the table, the slightly squelchy sound of blood making Michael grimace. “Have I told you recently what a treasure you are?”

 

Michael keened. “Peter just - ”

 

“Of course,” Peter said petting Michael’s thigh then gripping Michael’s hips. “I’ll make you feel like your brain is getting sucked out through your dick.”

 

“Sounds perf – unf!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect this current update spree to last for long, once xmas is over I have the feeling I may run out of steam again


	21. Chapter 21

The more festive things got, the moodier Michael seemed to be.

 

And Stiles didn’t mind, he didn’t, but… it was harshing Laura’s joy; the current joy being decorating the outside of the house so Santa knew where to land.

 

“Michael, why don’t you go inside and make hot chocolates for us all? We’ll join you shortly.”

 

Michael flung his lights down and stomped off following Peter’s ‘suggestion’ heading indoors. Stiles worried at his lip.

 

“I’m going to help Michael,” Stiles stated putting down his wreath as he wandered off, leaving Peter and Laura to decorate on their own.

 

“See you in a few,” Peter replied hoisting Laura up so she could put stars on the window. Stiles headed for the side door, slipping off his boots and heading into the kitchen. Michael was at worktop, hunched over.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

Michael grabbed a pot from the shelf at switched on the electric ring, clanging as he went.

 

“Mikey what’s wrong?” Stiles tried.

 

“Just a bit sick of it, is all,” Michael complained in sharp short breaths as he moved by Stiles to get to the fridge. “It’s stuff under a moulting tree and fire hazards not – shit.”

 

Michael had ripped the door off the fridge.

 

“Fucking fuck,” he raged, chucking the door onto the floor and snarling. “This stupid fucking holiday,” he yelled punching the freezer door as well.

 

“Mikey, it’s okay, just stop brea - ”

 

Stiles blinked up at the ceiling as black dots swarmed. He felt more than heard Michael run by him. Peter appeared above him, eyes blown out red.

 

“Up we get,” he said gently. Stiles sat slowly. He raised a hand to his face and pulled it away. Blood. Peter lifted Stiles’ chin and looked over him.

 

“He hit me,” Stiles said numbly as his face suddenly throbbed. “He - my nose – is - ”

 

“You’re healing just fine,” Peter concluded from his examination. “Break is already finished setting.”

 

“Set into what?” Stiles blurted.

 

“If you don’t like it I’ll break it and reset it later, but it looks normal to me,” he countered. “Do you feel nauseous?” Peter asked.

 

“No?”

 

“Follow my finger,” Peter instructed moving his finger left and right. “Okay, no concussion,” he finished standing. “I’m going after Michael. You watch movies with Laura.”

 

-

 

It was after dark before Peter and Michael trudged back into the house. Laura had already been put to bed and Stiles had gone cross eyed after spending too long in front of a mirror trying to see if there was any discernible difference in his face.

 

Stiles was tempted to run downstairs, to see.

 

He stayed sat up in bed. He heard Michael’s heartbeat blip out of existence – still the most unsettling thing he’s ever experienced. He heard Peter walk slowly up the stairs, pausing at Laura’s door only for an instance before entering their room.

 

Stiles could smell it before he even opened the door. Peter entered, pulled off his stained clothes and dumped them in the hamper.

 

“Care to join me in the shower?” Peter asked. Stiles shook his head. “Then go to sleep. I’m tired.”

 

Stiles slipped under the sheets and closed his eyes, spending the rest of the night trying to blot of the image of Peter covered in sprays of blood.

 

+

 

“It’s always wrong,” Michael lisped through a swollen jaw the next night. Stiles lay next to him on the bed, pain draining what he could muster. “They either try too hard and it’s irritating as hell as they try to make us play along and be happy all the fucking time or… or they do nothing. Ignore you. Leave you out. Leave all the kids out. Whatever,” Michael spat. “Then there was this one house where the guy dressed up as Santa - wanted the kids to sit in his lap. I was twelve,” he spat, wincing. “Not an idiot. He was. He was hard and feeling - ” Michael cut himself off. Stiles lay next to him, holding his hand and running an absent circle over Michael’s thumb. “First time I decided to be homeless at Christmas. First time I made it being homeless.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles rasped.

 

“I hate Christmas,” Michael wheezed. “Was glad it never came up last year.”

 

“Or the year before,” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe Peter hates it too.”

 

Michael shut his eyes hummed in agreement.

 

“Sorry… bout your nose…” he whimpered.

 

“That’s what I get for standing inbetween you and the fridge,” Stiles tried to joke.

 

“Still, not… right…”

 

Michael slipped off into sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

Christmas eve was nearly a nightmare, Laura was far too hyped to go to sleep, eventually though she conked out. Michael took her upstairs to his room where her bed had been dragged earlier and tucked her in. Peter took Stiles upstairs.

 

“Don’t we have to get the presents out?” Stiles asked as Peter slipped Stiles’ clothes off.

 

“Santa will do it.”

 

“Sure, but seriously, have you even wrapped the presents? Cause in my house - ”

 

“The elves wrap the presents Stiles,” Peter said firmly, pushing him onto the bed. “Unless you want me to wrap you a night early.”

 

“No, I just - ”

 

“Then don’t worry. I’m sure Santa has it covered.”

 

+

 

Laura’s stamping feet could be heard a mile away.

 

“Fafa! Dada! Me and Mikey are waiting!” she near screamed from the staircase as she raced up them. Stiles groaned into the pillow and was thankful to realise he already had some pyjama pants on. The door sprung open and Michael managed to catch Laura around the waist and swoop her up before she ran into the room. He glanced at them both.

 

“Decent?” he asked as he juggled the squirming kid.

 

“Yes we are,” Peter said as he stood gracefully, retrieved a dressing gown, and stepped into slippers. He took Laura out of Michael’s hands. “Ready to go downstairs? See what Santa’s brought?”

 

“PRESENTS!”

 

Michael gave Stiles a look of horror. Stiles snorted and grabbed a t-shirt, following Peter’s lead down the stairs. Peter gathered them all at the bottom of the last step, before they could round the corner into the big room.

 

“Now are we all ready?”

 

Stiles couldn’t help the sense of anticipation, and he could tell Michael was trying to cover his excitement.

 

“Yeah, let’s see what the monkey got.”

 

“Alright,” Peter said. Then he put Laura on the floor. She shot off.

 

“AHHHH!”

 

“The dulcet tones of excited kids,” Michael said. Stiles smiled and rounded the corner. Then froze.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“Wow,” Michael echoed behind him.

 

There were three stacks of presents, the pink and gold present stack being the highest, and there was snow trodden in from the fire place with hoove marks and boot imprints – even a bite from the mince pie left out for Santa was missing – and the coffee table in the middle was filled with breakfast treats.

 

“Santa was here!” Laura cried. Michael moved forwards.

 

“Well obviously, monkey, what did you think would happen…”

 

Stiles turned round to Peter standing nonchalantly to the side.

 

“You’re going to explain how you’re doing this one day.”

 

“Santa and his elves have had a busy night,” Peter replied mischievously. 

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said reaching over and squeezing Peter’s hand. Peter looked away from Laura and up to Stiles, a small smile on his lips.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

+

 

“What is this?” Michael asked unwrapping the green and gold paper from his pile.

 

“A textbook,” Peter replied easily from his seat on the couch, sipping coffee.

 

“Textbook…” Michael queried. 

 

“I thought it might match the classroom upstairs nicely.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I’d allow you to be a dunder head, did you?”

 

+

 

Laura already had crumbs in her wig. “I love chocolate bread!” she declared. “’Punzel loves chocolate bread,” she said more sagely as she flicked her long blonde wig around.

 

“Pain au chocolat,” Michael corrected quietly into the background.

 

+

 

“Iron man three?” Stiles asked laughing as he unwrapped his present. “How did you know?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe it was the way you went on about it for months?” Peter rolled his eyes. Stiles leaned over and gave him a kiss. 

 

“We can watch it together later.”

 

“Can't wait.”

 

+

 

“Did you just buy me a whole new wardrobe?” Michael asked, surrounded by shirts as he unwrapped his third pair of jeans.

 

“You’re a growing boy, and your current clothes weren’t very fetching.”

 

Michael blushed. “Well… thanks, I guess,” he muttered. 

 

+

 

“What’s that smell?” Stiles asked from the floor Laura and he were Lego building on. 

 

“Dinner,” Peter replied.

 

“Dinner? Who’s cooking?” Michael asked standing up. Peter grabbed his arm. Tight.

 

“Don’t go in the kitchen.”

 

“But - ”

 

“Don’t,” Peter said, his grip crushing.

 

“Ow, alright, I won’t.”

 

+

 

“Hey what’s this?” Stiles called out from under the tree, playing with Laura momentarily interrupted.

 

“What’s what?” 

 

“Peter it’s got your name on it,” Stiles called. Peter came over and crouched beside him. A wooden cylinder with a golden bow. Peter untied and opened the box.

 

“Ah.” Peter said, then closed the lid firmly. 

 

“What’s in the box?”

 

“My sister’s claws.”

 

“What.”

 

Peter kissed Stiles’ head.

 

“Nothing for you to be worried about.”

 

+

 

“So what’s your favourite so far?” Peter asked. Laura spun in a circle and gestured.

 

“Allf it,” she replied.

 

“We can write Santa a thank you letter,” Peter said. Laura nodded.

 

“Big fankoos,” she said. “M, hungry.”

 

+

 

Dinner was set on the dining room table, an alcove off to the side of the big room. It was covered in candles, goblets, crackers, glitter, a red tablecloth, and serving platters down the middle filled with hot steaming food.

 

“How are you doing this man,” Michael said, dancing Laura over on his feet.

 

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Peter said pulling out a chair for Laura. “Laura you can only have one toy at the table so - ”

 

Laura launched off into the present pile once more to pick only one toy. Stiles laughed as Peter pulled out a chair for him too.

 

“So what are we having?” Stiles asked.

 

“Venison,” Peter replied.

 

“Our venison, I presume,” Michael replied.

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“Picked one!” Laura declared running back and climbing up onto her chair. Peter pushed her chair in for her.

 

“Well then,” he said sitting down. “Let’s eat.”

+

 

Ice cream in front of the fire eventually ends up with Laura asleep face first in her bowl. Stiles giggled as he and Michael carried her off to bed and tucked her in with one of her new stuffed toys.

 

“This wasn’t a bad Christmas,” Michael said quietly.

 

Stiles hummed. “Well for some of us, it isn’t over yet.”

 

+

 

The ribbon is just tight enough to feel, it’s mostly effort that keeps Stiles in place. He could rip right though the flimsy material. But that would ruin the effect, Peter said.

 

“Look what Santa brought me,” Peter murmured, running a finger along his back. Stiles couldn’t see him. He was tied up in a ball, thighs to ankles, wrists to shoulders, elbows to knees, toes to toes. A swathe of ribbon and bows, the sexy red riding hood stockings had made another appearance, and a Santa hat – to keep it festive.

  
“The real question is have you been naughty,” he said giving Stiles a slap on his bare ass, making Stiles’ jerk and the threads pull taught. “Or nice?”


	23. Chapter 23

Stiles shifted around on his sofa staring at the gobbledygook on the page in front of him. He glanced over at Michael, crouched over the table sucking on a pencil in his mouth. “I don’t understand; how you can read this?” Stiles muttered.

 

Michael snorted. “It’s not that hard,” he replied filling out something on his workbook. “You just need to read it out loud a few times. Reading it silently doesn’t always work.”

 

Stiles pulled a face. “Can’t you just read it out loud for me?”

 

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You want to find the angle Timmy’s ladder has to be to reach the plant pot on Susie’s wall?” Michael asked reading his textbook question out.

 

Stiles huffed. “No…”

 

“Then no.”

 

+

 

Stiles gasped into Peter’s mouth as he rubbed Stiles’ nipple. He pressed down for another kiss. Peter turned them over, accidentally flipping them off the couch. Stiles hit the floor with a thud.

 

“Do you like, do that on purpose cause that’s the third time – ah - ”

 

Peter’s hands pulled Stiles’ shirt up and his lips went down onto his chest.

 

“Peter,” Stiles whined hand twining into his hair.

 

“Fafa!” came a squeal from the door. Stiles shot up like a rocket but Peter’s hand on his chest slammed him back down again, air whooshing out his breath and ears ringing from the place his head hit the ground.

 

“Laura, sweetie, where’s your uncle Mikey?” Peter asked. She grinned implishly.

 

“Gone,” she said spreading her hands wide. Stiles could hear the thump thump of far away feet coming closer.

 

“Well princess, your Daddy and I were having some special alone time that Daddies have. Do you think you could find your Uncle Mikey and keep him happy?”

 

Laura blew a raspberry. “But I wanna - ”

 

“Laura, we already had alone time today.”

 

Stiles chest tightened. What did that mean? What did – _what did that mean?_

 

“But I wanna see Tangledaginpweeze!”

 

Tangled. They watched a stupid movie. Stiles breathed. Peter gave him a curious glance. Stiles shrugged.

 

“Laura, you have to share Fafa. Even with Daddy, so upstairs and find your Bearbear. Mikey loves to see Bearbear.”

 

Laura huffed away and stomped one by one up the stairs. Stiles breathed. The thump thumps came closer still. Peter leant down.

 

“Now where were we?” he murmured.

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “She’s right there,” he whispered.

 

“She’s four, Stiles. She’s not paying attention.”

 

Stiles shook his head. “You’re actually craz - ”

 

The thump thump burst through the side door and darted up the stairs.

 

“Sorry! Sorry!” Michael called.

 

“See, squirt’s seen to. Now let’s get back to it.”

 

+

 

Peter idly flicked by the news articles that had popped up on his feed, ignoring most things. Wrote a few emails regarding his needs for the next week. Read a few reports on his stocks and investments. Sipped his coffee.

 

Life was good.

 

Nearly.

 

Good.

 

Except for that itch under his skin, the yearning in his fangs, the call of the moon to grow, _grow,_ **_grow_**.

 

“Peter?”

 

Michael’s head peeked round the door.

 

“You want anything for lunch? I was going to bring something out the Stiles and the monkey.”

 

“I’m alright,” he replied, Michael turned. “Michael?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Get under the desk.”

 

Michael moved, for an instant, a fraction, then frowned.

 

“That sounded a bit like a command there,” he said. “And that’s not how we operate.”

 

Peter felt his claws elongate as Michael stared dead into his eyes.

 

“I just really felt like a blowjob, Michael. No need to be so defensive,” Peter said casually.

 

“Well then,” Michael bristled. “If it’s no big deal just wait for Stiles.”

 

Peter scoffed. “Oh, Stiles doesn’t give me head.”

 

Michael blinked. “What?”

 

“If I want to live the boy under the desk fantasy, it would be with you in the starring role.”

 

Michael stared at Peter for a moment, cogs turning. “You sure you don’t want lunch?”

 

Peter gave a smile that was nearly too sharp. “Positive.”

 

Michael closed over the door and Peter listened to him stand. Waiting. Thinking. Would he come back in? Was he thinking about it? Fantasizing about it?

 

Michael moved. Peter sighed. The boy would be back. Teenagers were so predictable when it came to their dicks.

 

+

 

The spring had fully set in as Michael set up their first bonfire of the year. Peter was busy tucking Laura in. The ground was nearly dry, wood getting brittle again, Stiles was barefoot as he walked toward the spot on the beach.

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles smiled. “Hey.”

 

Michael worked on in silence. He’d been quieter since Christmas, Stiles wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure why Michael even stuck around all things considered.

 

“Are you…” Stiles licked his lips. Michael glanced up.

 

“What?”

 

Stiles shrugged, kicking at the sand rough on his feet.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Michael huffed and piled on some more kindling. “What kind of question is that?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “You’re pensive.”

 

“Is that one of your words of the day?”

 

Stiles snorted. “Shut up.” Michael sniggered. “Seriously though.”

 

Michael sighed. “Just… working through some things. That’s all.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Michael sighed, slumping down onto the dirty sand.

 

“Like… what’s family? What’s home? What’s right, what’s wrong? Does my inhumanity matter? Is there a werewolf god? Are we monsters kept in line by a bigger monster? Do I really need to control myself or can I live in the wild as wild as my wolf cares to be? Or would I always be in conflict?”

 

Stiles crouched down next to Michael.

 

“So… just the little stuff right?”

 

Michael snorted. “Yeah. Just the little stuff. Just, you know, my very essence and being.”

 

Stiles hummed. “Just trying to figure out who you are. What kinda man you’lll be.”

 

“If I’m a man at all.”

 

+

 

Michael stood back watching as Peter maneuvered the tied up woman on the floor of the basement.

 

“Now this vein is an artery. You remember the arteries?” Peter asked.

 

“Big veins, go to heart. Bleed out fast. Make big mess,” Michael said quickly, breathing shallow through his mouth.

 

“Excellent,” Peter said, twisting the woman’s leg around making her muffled screams more pronounced. “Now, this one is called the femoral artery. If we want to cripple her we need to make sure not to pierce this vein, alright? Can you see?”

 

Michael’s feet made a tacky noise as he walked across the floor and into a better position.

 

“How would I cripple her then? Like, the Achilles, right?” Michael asked.

 

“Well done Michael, you’re right. That’s how I would do it. Let’s look at that tendon after we’ve examined the artery situation here.”

 

+

 

“Daddy?”

 

Stiles’ heart still swooped a little when he heard Laura say that. So trusting, so sure.

 

“Yeah Lala?”

 

“Why is… whats…” her little head was trying to come up with the words as she jumped from stepping stone to stepping stone. “What’s other boys and girls doing?”

 

Stiles hummed, confused, trousers rolled up to his knees walking alongside Laura in the lake as she climbed the rocks.

 

“Other boys and girls?”

 

“Uh huh,” she said. “Like, where is the other boys and girls?”

 

Ah.

 

“Well Lala, it’s just us here,” Stiles answered.

 

“But, what’s they doing?” Laura asked doggedly.

 

“They’re with their daddies I’m sure. Just like you,” Stiles replied. “How about we see if there’s any bananas for banana bread baking?”

 

Laura gasped with excitement.

 

“Nana bread!”

 

+

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey.”

 

“Missed you last night,” Stiles murmured snuggling into the sheets.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Expected you back downstairs after you tucked Laura in.”

 

Michael hummed. “Ran,” he said gently staring at Stiles' face, eyes closed, face smooshed against the pillow, hands curled around the top of the blanket.

 

“Figured,” Stiles answered softly.

 

Michael took a deep breath in, smelling Stiles’ sleepy scent, the happiness, the tiredness, the undertones of Michael. The slight bitterness of come.

 

“Stiles.”

 

Stiles eyes flickered open at Michael’s tone. “What’s up?” he asked drowsy.

 

“I can’t… I’m not sure I’m happy to do this anymore.”

 

Stiles blinked, alertness slowly appearing in his eyes. “What’s wrong.”

 

“You. In my bed. After he’s…” Michael’s fingers gently traced Stiles’ cheek. “I’m just not sure I can cope with being your… your backup.”

 

Stiles was awake now.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Don’t be - ”

 

Stiles sat up, flinging the covers off.

 

“Don’t be what? Mad?” Stiles hissed.

 

“I - ”

 

“This,” Stiles gestured between him. “Has never been about… for me. For us. This has always been. Like. Support. Togetherness. Closeness without… without strings or complicated shit or - ”

 

“Stiles I know that. I, I know. It - ” Michael took a short sharp breath. “It’s just hard when you come into my bed smelling like Peter did a finger painting on your chest last night.”

 

Stiles’ face went pale and his hands shook.

 

“Shit, Stiles, I mean - ”

 

“Fuck you Michael.”

 

Stiles left. Michael fell back onto the bed.

 

“Shit.”

 

+

 

“I understand.”

 

Michael glanced up from the mini-desk where he’d been writing his history essay.

 

“I understand like,” Stiles breathed, fidgeting with his hands, looking down at the carpet. “Like how that can be hard for you, on you. And I…” Stiles bit his lip. “I don’t want to put you in a situation where you’re uncomfortable or whatever crap like that.”

 

Michael thought for a moment. About all the feelings conflicting in him. How he _loved_ having Stiles in bed next to him. How he hated it too. That Stiles only came to him when Peter wasn’t around. That he’d be so soft and tender and warm and defenceless. That he’d make Michael that way too. That it hurt.

 

Michael stood and crossed the room sitting down next to Stiles and taking his hand. Stiles squeezed. Michael squeezed back.

 

“I hate it. The way you crawl into my bed like you belong there. Like nothing can touch us so long as we’re under those sheets,” Michael whispered. “Because that’s how I feel. Then you’re crawling back out again, like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s a little thing. Because Peter’s your world. He has to be. All the time. It’s Peter Peter Peter in your head,” Michael shuddered. “And I don’t blame you. Or him. Or us. It’s just… It is what it is.”

 

Michael sat next to Stiles for a long time as tears fell from Stiles eyes. Eventually.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Michael squeezed again.

 

“Me too.”

 

+

 

“When’s birthday?”

 

“Huh?”

 

Laura pointed at the giant calendar on the kitchen wall.

 

“Party?”

 

Stiles blinked and turned around to look at Peter. Michael stared vividly into his porridge.

 

“Not yet, princess,” Peter said smoothly. Laura sighed heavily then mashed a banana slice with her palm on the worktop.

 

“Presents.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

Laura eyed Peter suspiciously.

 

“Presents please?”

 

“Good girl,” Peter replied. Laura preened. “But not yet.”

 

Laura sighed again this time mashing the banana up in her fist.

 

Michael glanced up.

 

“Bagsy not on washup.”

 

+

 

“Your maths is slipping Michael.”

 

Michael blinked. “Are you kidding me? Is this like, getting sent to the headmaster right now? Do I have to go to summer school?”

 

Peter levelled a stare at him over the top of his laptop. Michael shifted.

 

“I’m just bad at it, don’t like it.”

 

“Take more time then, maths unfortunately plays a part in the family finances, and if I know how to do it then - ”

 

“I need to know how to do it. Yeah, I get it. I’ll do fucking better,” Michael said slumping in the seat in front of Peter’s desk.

 

“I’m so rarely given the opportunity to be disappointed in you Michael.”

 

Michael tilted his head. “I’m sorry,” he leaned forwards. “I could make it up to you?”

 

“What did you have in mind?” Peter asked coyly. Michael smirked and dropped onto the floor smoothly, crawling under the desk. Peter leaned back and relaxed. So fucking predictable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018! Sadly in real life I've been on tour so I never managed to do any updates (lol, like we're expecting me to do updates)
> 
> So don't over do your aims for next year and feel sad when you didn't become famous! Like me. Every year. Sigh...


	24. Chapter 24

The sun was hot on Michael’s back as he ran, sweat dripping down his back as his top was abandoned not long ago, tucked into his waistband.

 

Stiles doesn’t understand. He said he did, but he doesn’t. He smells sad and confused and that makes Michael whine which is the exact opposite –

 

Michael paused, breathing in deep, the smell of flowers and trees filling his nose. He could hear the birds, mice, rabbits, whatever other creatures were tucked into the undergrowth burrowing around.

 

This was his territory now. He knew it. He knows it as well as Peter knows it. He knows lots of things that Peter knows now. It settles something within him that he didn’t know was untethered. That Peter is sticking to his promise, that Peter is training him to be his right hand makes him feel like…

 

Like he has a place. A home. A family.

 

He’s not had a family in so long.

 

+

 

The morning light flooded in bright and clear as Stiles crossed the hallway to Laura’s bedroom. Stiles tripped in the door to find Peter already there.

 

“Daddy!”

 

“Morning, sweetie,” Stiles said distractedly. Peter stood and gave him a peck on the lips. “Morning, you. Not on a run?”

 

Peter smiled. “Michael said he’d start doing some mornings for me.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Stiles felt that twist inside him like a physical wound.

 

“Laura and I were just talking about the new clothes.”

 

Stiles blinked. “New clothes?”

 

“Daddy, they just appear,” she said as Peter helped pull off her nighty. “Like magic in my drawers.”

 

“I suppose the elves knew you need some summer clothes. It’s getting sunny and hot,” Peter replied, already popping a new t-shirt on her.

 

“I want shorts!”

 

“Please,” Stiles tacked on absently, moving over to the drawers and opening them up.

 

“Shorts please!”

 

-

 

Stiles was sitting down on the plush carpet in front of their triple wardrobe after thoroughly rummaging through his side. Laura was right. The fluffy jumpers and scarves were missing. T-shirts and flip flops had appeared.

 

“Peter?”

 

“Yes, love.”

 

Stiles turned around.

 

“What has been happening to our clothes?”

 

Peter smirked. “Can’t believe that Laura noticed before you.”

 

“Peter,” Stiles whined. Peter approached him and wrapped arms around his waist.

 

“They’ve just been swapped with your summer wardrobe. If there’s something specific you want just ask. I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually.”

 

Stiles snorted. “Who am I going to ask, the wardrobe?” Peter hummed, kissing Stiles’ forehead before heading into the en suite. “Peter. Peter? Seriously?”

 

+

 

Stiles heard the scuffle from the tv room. Laura frowned at him.

 

“I’ll go look, you can stay and watch.”

 

Laura’s eyes riveted back to the tv, cereal bowl left half-forgotten on the floor.

 

Stiles crept through to the living room. Peter had Michael’s arm twisted up and around, pinning Michael to the ground. Stiles stepped forward but froze when Peter let forth a vicious snarl. Michael tried sweeping Peter’s feet, but Peter just dropped a knee into the centre of Michael’s back with a sickening crack. Michael half howled half whimpered.

 

“Peter stop!”

 

Peter’s eyes snapped up red and glowing. Stiles nearly stepped back.

 

“Please,” Stiles whispered.

 

Peter licked his lips – no, Stiles thought, he was licking the blood off his lips from a gash that covered the side of his face – and stood.

 

“Fine.”

 

Stiles heaved a sigh of relief.

 

“Pick.”

 

Stiles’ gut rolled. He hadn’t had to play this game in so long.

 

“I’ll pull out his teeth,” Peter continued in an eerily flat voice. “Or I’ll pull out his kneecaps.”

 

Stiles felt sick. “What?”

 

“Pick one or I’ll do both.”

 

Stiles felt the world spin slightly: how had he forgotten this, how could he have ignored how much Peter controlled them? The dread he used to feel every morning flooding back with such ease -

 

“I can’t, Peter, I - ” Stiles could feel the errant tear slip down his face.

 

“Come here,” Peter said. Stiles slowly approached. Peter pulled him close and lapped up the tear. “If it makes you feel any better,” Peter murmured taking Stiles chin between his fingers. “Michael’s had to pick for you on occasion too.”

 

Michael whined. Stiles grit his teeth, shaking.

 

“Knee caps.”

 

“Good boy,” Peter praised pulling Stiles into a sloppy kiss. “Clever boy,” he repeated again, dropping his hold on Michael and pulling Stiles in and groping him. “Michael, go to the basement and pop off your kneecaps,” he said lifting Stiles by the ass. Stiles wrapped his legs around Peter on autopilot. “If you haven’t managed that by the time I’m done with Stiles I’ll be more than happy to do it for you after I’ve broken every single bone in your body.”

 

-

 

“Hey.”

 

Michael blinked up at Stiles.

 

“Hey.”

 

Stiles dithered. “Can I…?”

 

Michael nodded. “Yeah.”

 

Stiles slipped between the sheets facing Michael. Michael couldn’t help his hand going out and running by the split lip.

 

“It wasn’t a good night.”

 

“It’s not even dawn.”

 

Stiles hummed quietly. “He left to run. Get it out his system, I suppose.”

 

Michael grit his teeth. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be, we - ” Stiles licked his lips then winced. “We shouldn’t have to be so fucking perfect all the time.”

 

“In fairness, I did try to gouge out his eye.”

 

Stiles gave a snort sob. “Next time don’t miss.”

 

Michael smiled, Stiles frowned. “What?”

 

“Just… fighting talk. Reminds me of… this time last year.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath wincing when his side pulled painfully.

 

“We were younger then.”

 

Michael rolled his eyes. “No duh.”

 

Stiles swallowed. “Now we’re older,” he said softly.

 

“Better trained,” Michael tacked on to Stiles’ thought.

 

“Better at surviving,” Stiles replied.

 

“Better at faking it?” Michael asked. “Are we even faking it even more?”

 

Stiles thought about the tiny heartbeat upstairs. The heartbeat beside him.

 

“I think…” Stiles rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I think I’m just trying to find a way of living with this at the moment.”

 

Michael rolled onto his back to, whining slightly as he jarred his knees. “I think I know what you mean.”

 

+

 

Stiles watched as Laura ran around a tree, trying to evade Michael in some form of tig. He jumped when he felt fingers on his face. His eyes flicked to Peter.

 

“Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” Stiles said lightly pushing his head back against the frozen fingers. Peter resumed his light petting, carding his fingers through the strands of hair that fell around his ears.

 

“Should I be jealous?” Peter inquired.

 

“As much as any man should be of a four year old girl,” Stiles replied.

 

Peter smiled. “She is something.” Stiles hummed. “I was thinking…”

 

Stiles turned his head to Peter, he put his hand back down on the picnic blanket and leaned back.

 

“Maybe we should start on some more renovations now that the spring rains have passed.”

 

Stiles groaned.

 

+

 

Laura squealed as she helped roll up the carpet. Sweat was even seen on Peter’s head.

 

“This carpet reminds me of my gran’s old place,” Stiles panted. “Smells like it to,” he said nose wrinkled.

 

Peter hefted the next section round and another puff of old dust and what smelt like cigarette ash billowed up and around. He winced. Laura laughed.

 

“It’s super gross,” Michael agreed.

 

“Supergwoss,” Laura added, kicking the roll and then jumping on the newly revealed floorboards.

 

“At least it wasn’t glued down – like the lino in the kitchen, remember?” Michael said. Stiles snorted, readjusting his grip on the carpet.

 

“Lino is evil.”

 

“Again,” Peter said and they pushed the ever growing weight of the black and orange carpet again. “This room is massive. Maybe we should have cut it into sections first, not like we’re keeping it.”

 

“Could still do that,” Stiles said. “Cut it longways here. Do we have like…” Stiles shrugged. “An axe?”

 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Claws, sweetie. Claws.”

 

Stiles frowned. “Oh yeah.”

 

“I want pink walls please!” Laura said pointing.

 

“Oh do you now? Is this your room then?” Stiles asked.

 

“Yes,” she said.

 

“What about your room upstairs?”

 

“Mine too.”

 

Stiles grinned. “Oh I see, well, in that case only one room can be pink.”

 

Laura’s eye widened.

 

“Uh oh.”

 

“Uh oh. Now let’s claw the carpet!”

 

-

 

“Uhgh,” Stiles groaned from their en suite. “I think I have dusty old gunk inbetween my teeth from that carpet,” he said attacking his mouth with a toothbrush.

 

“You’re the one who talked through the whole thing,” Peter said appearing behind him in the mirror. “Kept your yap wide open the whole time.”

 

“I was trying to keep Laura entertained,” Stiles groused around his brushing.

 

“She’s allowed to be bored you know,” Peter laughed. “Boredom grows imagination. It’s not your job to entertain her every hour of the day.”

 

Stiles frowned. “Kinda is - ”

 

“You look after her, her dad – not her clown or dancing bear. She’s growing up. Less likely to fall down the stairs if you decide to sneeze.”

 

“One time - ”

 

“She needs a little bit less entertainment from you now – not a lot, just enough. Okay?”

 

“I just…” Stiles sighed. “I don’t want her to be lonely.”

 

Peter ran a hand over Stiles’ arm, running his nose over Stiles’ shoulder.

 

“Were you a lonely boy?” Peter asked gently. Stiles shrugged.

 

“When I was her age…” Stiles turned around facing Peter, leaning against the sink. “I hadn’t been diagnosed or anything. Just the loud kid who couldn’t wait their turn. No one wanted to play with me. Except the asthmatic.”

 

“My poor baby,” Peter crooned, crowding against him.

 

“I got meds when I was older. Turned into a regular little social butterfly.”

 

Peter’s hand cradled Stiles’ face, eyes keen. “Are you lonely now?”

 

Stiles blinked. “I have you,” Stiles replied. “You wouldn’t let me get lonely now, would you?” he asked sidling a knee between Peter’s legs. A slow smile crept onto Peter’s face. Stiles thought about Michael, _are we even faking it anymore?_

 

“Of course not, baby. Let me take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg lads, I just reread the last chapter and there were like a millions typos, please give me typo shout outs man. Like if I wrote a whole sentence in another tense and I've split my infinite grammars then don't tell me - but spelling, spelling I can fix dudes! Lotsa lurv


End file.
